


Stuck

by aidaninkling (PsychoTheCupcake)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alpha Harry Potter, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Alternate Universe, College, Dirty Talk, Eventual Smut, Ginny Weasley Bashing, Homophobic Language, Knotting, M/M, Mates, Omega Draco Malfoy, Sexual Tension, Shameless Smut, Snarky Draco Malfoy, Werewolf Mates, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-24
Updated: 2018-06-02
Packaged: 2018-06-10 11:40:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 25,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6955051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PsychoTheCupcake/pseuds/aidaninkling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco Malfoy lives a simple life. Go to college, throw some snark at resident golden boy Harry Potter and his homophobic posse, judge the remainder of the living population with Pansy, go home, jack off to aforementioned golden boy in the shower, crawl into bed with a book and a cup of tea. Rinse and repeat.</p><p>Until he and Potter get stuck in a closet together, and things get a whole lot less simple.</p><p>Really quickly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there! :D Thanks for reading my first ever fic in this fandooooom! (Don't run away - it's not that bad, promise.) I absolutely adore Harry and Draco together, and have felt for a while that I can't find enough good mating/bonding/omegaverse fics with them in the starring role (which is strange in a magical fandom, but hey) so I was like GET OFF YOUR ARSE AND WRITE YOUR OWN THEN.
> 
> And voila.
> 
> It's a WIP, but I'll update as often as I can, and promise not to be horrid and just disappear off the face of the earth at some point without giving the boys a happy ending. I have shed many tears as a reader in those situations, and it's horrendous. (Hopefully someone out there will love my fic enough to feel that way about it. XD)
> 
> Fair warning, this might be a bit OOC, but fits in the context of the AU (so be warned but it's nothing to worry about, really). Also, sorry for the Ginny-bashing to those of you that love her. I needed a bad guy. Sorry.
> 
> Enjoy, and please remember to review! I'd love to hear your thoughts on how it's going!

* * *

 

Stuck in a closet. Draco was stuck in a closet.

This, in and of itself, was not that distressing - worse things have happened. He had a book tucked away in his bag, and while the bulb meant to light up this particular corner of heaven seemed to have blown, there was enough light filtering in through the crack beneath the door that he could make out most of the words if he squinted. No, the closet was not the problem.

It was the fact that Draco was stuck in a closet with Harry Potter.

A sneeze echoed through the tiny space and Draco rolled his eyes. It seemed the other man could not even respect Draco’s inner monologue.

“Can you stop?!”

Draco didn’t bother turning to look at the speaker. Potter was practically standing on top of him, anyway. “Stop what?” he asked, bored.

“Stop doing nothing, dammit! We need to get out of this fucking place!”

Draco sighed. “We’ve been over this, Potter. We are in a closet. It is locked from the outside. Neither you nor I seem to be skilled in the art of breaking and entering - or exiting, in this case - so we remain, as before, in a closet. Until someone lets us out.”

Draco knew his tone was unnecessarily condescending, but he just couldn’t help riling Potter up. It had, in fact, been his favourite pastime for the last three years. Secretly, of course. Letting Potter know he affected Draco at all would defeat the purpose.

Silence reigned again - surprising, but Draco was not one to look a gift horse in the mouth - and Draco refocused his staring at the opposite wall. The closet was about a square metre in size, if that, and he was starting to consider the aforementioned book again when he glanced over at Potter looming over him. The brute would surely never allow it.

They had settled into a comfortable routine over the last couple of years; Potter and he. Harry, as he was known to his cronies, would strut onto campus with all the contained testosterone of an enraged bull, surrounded by a pack of followers. Draco would call them friends, but he doubted the customs of the higher social echelon could be likened to friendship. No, they were a clique brought together by beauty and daddy’s oodles of cash; out to benefit as much as humanly possible from one another without actually _being_ human at any given point.

Upon arrival (around third period, usually) the posse would make their way through campus, high-fiving familiar faces and being generally jolly. Until they reached the Maths building. Why they would even pass through there was anyone’s guess, and why Draco would be reading in the same window alcove every day was another, but so it happened.

“Why, if it isn’t _Draco_.” That was Ginnerva Weasley, usually, in one of two poses: claws latched onto her hips, or claws latched onto Potter’s bicep.

He wouldn’t look up, as much as he wanted to rip the orange monstrosity from her scalp.

“Imagine that.”

He could practically _hear_ her enraged snarl, but smiling would ruin the façade. And what a façade it was.

“Listen here, you little weirdo, I don’t know what you think you’re doing -”

“Reading. But, then again, I can’t say I’m surprised that you’re unfamiliar with the act.”

“Hey! You don’t get to talk to her like that!”

This shriek is unfamiliar to Draco, but that’s to be expected. The gang picked up a new hanger-on at least every two days, much like one would pick up a piece of gum with one’s shoe.

“And we’re joined by another harpy, I see. Tell me, my dear, how long do you think _you’ll_ last before the princess forgets your name?”

Draco revelled in the cacophony of female shrieking that followed. Call him a sadist; it was true.

“Go suck a dick, you fucking asshole!”

This, at least, gets a reaction from Potter: “Really? But those are his two favourite pastimes.”

Finally.

“And our resident homophobe joins the party. Honestly, Potter, we must stop meeting like this or your groupies are going to start thinking you fancy me,” Draco finished, closing his book and standing up at the last minute - giving him just enough time to throw Potter a saucy wink before the other man grabbed him by the collar and slammed him against the wall.

Now don’t get him wrong.

It wasn’t that Draco didn’t think Potter was attractive. It wasn’t even that Draco hadn’t jacked off to a fantasy of the pack leader in various stages of undress two or three times. It was just that it didn’t matter.

Their circles would never meet, in any way other than this fucked up mess.

Well, _almost_ never.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much love already! XD You guys are amazing, and I hope you enjoy the next installment!
> 
> P.S. I forgot to mention it last time, but I don't have a beta, so please feel free to point out any mistakes that escape my notice!

* * *

 “…Are you having a panic attack?”

“I… do not… have panic attacks.”

Draco raised a well-trained eyebrow in the direction of the stunted denial. Potter was leaning heavily on the wall to Draco’s left, obviously trying his best not to look as distressed as he felt. It wasn’t working. His knuckles were white and Draco felt his keen sense of self-preservation perk up as he eyed the man carefully.

“Uh, I do believe your current state of person speaks to the contrary.”

Potter exhaled violently through his mouth. “I’m just a little concerned about the hit my reputation will take after the world finds out I spent an hour in a closet with you,” he retorted, shutting his eyes and letting his head lol back against the wall behind him.

Draco gave him a careful once-over, recognising the remark for what it was. The man was panicked and wouldn’t admit to it, so he did what all men do in such a situation: attack, and hope no-one noticed your lapse. He could live with that.

Draco smirked, resting his elbows on his bent knees. “Yeah, I’m sure your fan club will commit mass suicide at the thought of you having to endure the weirdo’s company for a snippet of your life.”

Potter snorted, and sounded like he was going to say something when he did the deflating-lungs thing again and turned to lean both palms on the wall behind him instead. Which, due to the aforementioned complete lack of space in their temporary prison, left Draco with an eyeful of jean-clad ass a scant three inches from his face.

_Great._

No, really. It was a fucking fantastic ass.

Potter should’ve been completely unappealing. Attractive, yeah, but honestly nothing special. Sure, he had muscles on his muscles; abs cut from tanned marble atop that amazing V on either side of the trail of dark hair leading down past the waistband of his shorts - the trail that just begged Draco’s eyes to follow it the one day in the locker room when Draco had stayed late to get some extra laps in before the swimming meet the next day - and Harry had just finished practise himself and the sweat was still clinging to him as he pulled his shirt over his head; the one that was always just snug enough around his biceps-

Yes. Like he was saying, Potter should’ve been completely unappealing. Draco was more skinny-jeans and leather jackets. His platinum blonde hair he wore long but for the shaved sides, carefully styled to look like he’d just ran his hands through it this morning after a quickie in the shower and it just decided to _stay_ that way. Draco had learnt that it takes a heck of a lot of effort to look like you don’t care - Potter, on the other hand, _that_ wasn’t careful carelessness, his hair was just a honest to God mess, a pitch black crow’s nest above his head that Draco just itched to run his fingers through while he lost himself in eyes so green he swore they were the colour of-

UNAPPEALING. COMPLETELY. FOCUS.

Potter was an idiot, for one. Oh yeah, skimming by on an arts degree in classics or something (Draco didn’t care, why would he?) that he didn’t even study for ‘cause he got handed A’s just so the college could keep him on their football field with a sports scholarship that he didn’t even need ‘cause everyone knew the man was loaded unlike a certain blonde who actually had to work his pert ass off to stay in class-

“What are you doing?”

Draco slowly released his death grip on his bag - it was making a rather distressing crunching sound - and schooled his expression neutral.

“Nothing. How’s the panic attack?”

“Fuck you, Malfoy.”

“Yeah, I’m sure that would just make your day.”

“Don’t go projecting your fucked up reality onto me.”

It was important to note that Draco Malfoy hadn’t lost his temper in public in a long time. Cool and collected was his MO. Even in his altercations with Potter and his crowd, he always came out of top - yeah, maybe he'd got a couple bruises out of it, but he was never the one left red-faced and panting - no, that was Potter. Potter lost his cool. Draco Malfoy sowed chaos and sat back to watch as the world fell apart.

“ _Excuse_ me?”

Draco Malfoy did not fall apart.

 “ _I’ve_ got a fucked up reality?! At least I’ve bloody well come to grips with my reality instead of strutting around like some repressed gym junkie with too much of everything who can’t admit what he really wants!”

Well, Draco Malfoy never used to fall apart.

“You want me to believe you’ve never looked at another man and thought about his lips around your cock?"

He was also always in control of his situation; able to beat a hasty retreat when the turn of events called for it. Now, however, he was _stuck_ , in a _closet_ , with _Potter_ , and it was just too hot and crowded for him to think straight. He wanted to hit the man where it hurt, or at least make him feel half as stifled and uncomfortable and Draco was feeling.

"Never imagined what it would be like to grip his hair and ram yourself down his throat?”

Potter looked up sharply before his eyebrows drew together and something akin to a growl rumbled through his chest. Draco felt his heart rate speed up and he still didn’t really know what he was doing but he had _seen_ that look and suddenly he felt powerful and alive in a way he hadn't felt in a long time and he just couldn’t shut up.

“I bet you have thought about it. About sliding your cock into a tight ass. I’m sure Ginny’s way too pretty to let you do that to her. It’s all vanilla with that one, isn’t it?"

Draco laughed, and it sounded strange to his own ears but he was on a high and he wanted Potter to- just-

"But that isn’t what you want. You want to _fuck_. You want someone who can take it, take everything you give them.”

Draco was feeling like the one with the panic attack now, his throat tightening and his breathing hard. He’d got to his feet at some point and even as Potter loomed over him Draco couldn’t shut up. His voice dropped so low he doubted Potter would be able to hear it were he not a mere inch or two from him now.

“And you want to give it _all_ , don’t you?”

Suddenly Draco's back hit wood and Potter was gripping him just below his throat. It wasn't hard enough to constrict but enough to let him know that Potter could really hurt him if he wanted, and Draco's heart was beating a mile a minute now. The air was deathly still in the small space aside from the harsh sound of their breathing and Draco knew he was probably about to get punched the way that Potter was looking at him; his eyes hard and his jaw locked and so, so close but Draco wanted to- he wanted to- Draco  _wanted_.

“Even if you _had_ me,” he breathed, “You wouldn’t know what to do with me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if I made it sound like arts degrees are worth less than other degrees (They're not! I know that! But Draco's a bit of an intellectual snob and hates Harry and thinks he's slacking so...) I love all you artsy freaks! :D


	3. Chapter 3

* * *

 The janitor’s return was exquisitely well timed.

Were Draco not blowing steam from every available orifice, he might have taken the time to thank a random deity for the fact that he didn’t have to stand around in a locked closet in awkward silence following his fantastically explicit little speech. Every time he replayed it, however, he felt heat creep up the back of his neck and couldn’t seem to get quite enough oxygen. Hence, he settled for mindless ire instead.

“Where the _fuck_ were you?”

Draco plonked down next to the black-haired girl he used to consider his partner in crime, slamming his lunch tray down with enough force to spill bitter black coffee into his chicken salad.

“Oh, here and there, you know me,” Pansy sang, throwing a casual wink in Draco’s direction before she got a proper look at him and sat up a little straighter. “What the hell happened to you?”

“Harry fucking Potter happened- No, stop looking at me like that, you whore,” Draco snapped at her raised eyebrow.

“Well how am I supposed to look at my best friend-”

“Like fuck-”

“My _best_ friend when he just waltzes into lunch looking like he got ravished behind the-”

“Malfoy.”

And Draco died. There just seemed to be no alternative response to the right hand man of the person whose ears you just molested walking up to you in a crowded cafeteria to have it out over your earlier transgressions.

“Weasley, a pleasure, as always,” Pansy drawled, picking up Draco’s slack effortlessly as he stared at the table in silent horror. The game of social apathy was one they’d played side-by-side since middle school, and they were like a well-oiled machine by now. Pansy would never let his slip go noticed by the unwashed masses, no matter how curious she herself was to have it out in the open. Patience - they did it well. _(Used to do it well, you fool.)_

“Parkinson,” Ron replied, not altogether unkindly, just rather uninterested. He had his target, and if there’s one thing you could bet your life on, it was that Ronald Weasley was like a dog with a bone. “I’m here to talk to Malfoy.”

“Why, I’m _so_ much more fun,” Pansy purred, popping a grape into her mouth, and Draco could practically hear her trademark wink.

“What- No, I-” Weasley sputtered, and Draco had to keep from physically slapping himself before raising his head nonchalantly and casting a side-ways glance at the footballer looming over them. He was Draco fucking Malfoy, and he was not going to have Pansy fight his battles for him while he stared dumbly at linoleum.

“Weasel, come to lower the IQ of the room, I see. State your case so we may continue our meal unaccosted, won’t you?” he drawled, mentally high-fiving himself at how completely unbothered he came across. He cast a stealthy glance at the cafeteria behind the hulking ginger, spotting his group of prissy plastics and jocks gathered around a table a little while away. Potter sat in the far corner, leaning heavily against the table as he drilled a hole through a can of soda with his eyes. His attention seemed diverted, and Draco released a slow lungful of air. Finally, he was catching a fucking break. They were going to have this conversation at some point - best be now, while he can still play it off as a joke; a gag meant to pass the time and fluster the golden boy before the man realised the conversation was even happening.

Then they could all move on and forget it even happened. Damage control. He could do this.

“My case? I’d like to know what the fuck you were thinking when you told-”

Draco waved one hand dismissively, the other clutching his fork as he stabbed a piece of chicken maybe a little too violently. He could _do_ this. “Calm yourself, Weasel, I assure you it was meant in jest.”

“In- Malfoy, I don’t know what makes you think you can pass that shit off as a joke but telling someone-”

“Well, Weasel, I’d wager there’s a lot you don’t know, so it’s hardly surprising. Besides, Potter’s a big boy, I’m sure he can handle his own little scuffles by now.”

There was a heartbeat of silence, and Draco allowed himself to believe for a moment that his recent winning streak was two for two, before he felt the hairs on the back of his neck prick up.

“Harry?”

Oh.

“I wasn’t talking about Harry.”

Shit.

“What happened with Harry?”

Okay. So Weasley didn’t know about the closet. Reasonable.

Let’s not _panic._

“Nothing.”

A+ logic there, Malfoy, really, well done, why don’t you just go shoot yourself in the face while you’re at it - seems you don’t really need it anymore anyway.

“Doesn’t sound like nothing to me, mate,” Weasley quipped, and Draco was only ever “mate” when he was about three point two seconds away from getting knocked out.

Oh well. It’d been fun. Best he could do was distract the man before he got physical.

Damage control.

Draco drew himself up out of his chair with all the composure he could muster, his hands sliding into his blazer pockets easily as he turned to face Weasley, who was now looking like a rooster on parade, with his arms folded over his chest and his eyebrows drawn so tightly together Draco wondered if he’d ever get rid of those frown lines.

“Again, Weasel,” Draco smirked _(oh he was so screwed)_ “we seem to be faced with the question of your ability to-”

“Ron. Let’s go.”

The command was spoken lowly, almost growled, yet it quieted the bustling cafeteria immediately. Draco willed himself to keep his eyes trained on Weasley, his expression calm, almost smug, but inside he was hyperventilating. Potter. Fuck.

Weasley narrowed his eyes at the blonde, his lips turning down at the corners, and it looked for a moment like he was going to argue before he turned around and walked over to where Potter and the hangers-on were making their way out. Potter stood in the doorway, watching his best friend walk over before turning and following the others out. Not once did he glance at Draco.

Pansy's low whistle broke through the haze in Draco's brain like a knife.

"You have got a _heap_ of explaining to do, pretty boy."

He let out a slow breath and tried not to shatter all over the cafeteria floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DAMMIT NAMELESS JANITOR YOU COCKBLOCK.
> 
> ...Don't kill me. XD
> 
> I hope you guys enjoyed this installment. It was more chatty, less *nudge nudge*, I know, but we got to meet the fabulous PANSY! :D Who I adore (in fandom) and good ole Ron. I actually didn't mean to update tonight, I'm just procrastinating harder than these boys wanna bang, ya know what I'm saying? Until next time! ;D


	4. Chapter 4

Pansy had been laughing for two minutes straight when she finally quieted down to draw a deep breath and Draco thought he might not have to kill her.

“You -” she managed, hugging her stomach as she tried to hold it together. “So you - you said -” she paused, her lips twitched, and then he was doubled over again in hysterics.

It really was a shame. Draco had enjoyed having her companionship over the years. He just hoped there wasn’t too much blood to clean up afterwards.

“Hey, hey no, okay -” she sputtered, hands held up in surrender, “stop making the murder face. I’m sorry. Sorry. Okay. I can do this.”

Draco considered it. “I’d really rather end you and the knowledge you unfortunately carry with you.”

Pansy’s face split into a manic grin again and Draco leaned back against the concrete wall behind him in defeat. They had retreated to their usual hiding spot after the incident in the cafeteria; a surprisingly sunny corner behind the microbiology building on the furthest side of campus. It was their traditional rendezvous point for gossip sessions and shared cigarettes. Which wasn’t that bad an idea, actually. If the bitch wasn’t gonna quit, he may as well have a smoke.

Pansy slumped down on the ground next to Draco and pulled him down with her, stealing the lit smoke from his fingers as he reached out to break his unexpected fall.

“Bitch.”

She took a drag and smiled to herself. “So Potter, huh?”

Draco frowned. “Not “Potter, huh”, don’t start that shit. It was a momentary lapse in judgement.”

Pansy’s eyebrows nearly met her hairline. “Draco. Honey. C’mon. You’ve been obsessed with the man since freshman year-”

“I am not _obsessed_ ,” Draco spat, snagging the cigarette and filling his lungs with smoke as if it could erase the dirty taste of the word.

"Sure, 'cause that creepy little dance you two do is totally healthy."

"Pansy. Fuck. The guys hates me, I hate him, we'll never get along and this conversation isn't even _happening_ , God, so just drop it. I don't even know why I told you."

They sat in silence for a while, each lost in thoughts and nicotine until Draco murmured “Besides, he didn’t even _look_ at me.” and Pansy had nothing to say to that.

“Are you going to see your mom this afternoon?” she asked, instead.

Draco’s lip curled despite himself.

“Draco. She misses you,” Pansy admonished, but her eyes were sad. “Should I come with you? I haven’t heard the latest on her eternally amazing petunias in a while. I swear the damn things are enchanted, seriously - your mother’s a witch.”

Draco’s lips twitched despite himself. “You’re insane.”

“It’s settled then! An afternoon at the delightful Malfoy Manor!” Pansy proclaimed, throwing her hands in the air dramatically.

“You really must stop giving that dump such a good name.”

“It’s ironic, dear, do try to keep up.”

* * *

The not-so-affectionately nicknamed Malfoy Manor had seen better days. Draco’s family was an obscenely old one, in the sense that their money had been passed down from feudal relatives one was probably better off not mentioning in polite conversation, and their bloodline preserved in rather unsavoury ways.

All in all, Draco really didn’t want to talk about it.

“Mrs Malfoy, so lovely to see you again!”

Narcissa Malfoy smiled demurely at Pansy’s enthusiastic greeting. She was seated in an overstuffed chair upholstered in faded red suede, her hands folded neatly one over the other. Her air was regal, which only served to make the whole situation that much more tragic.

See, it’s rather important to note that the aforementioned stash of old Malfoy money passed down from dodgy ancestors had recently been diminished. _A lot_.

Again, Draco didn’t want to talk about it.

“Pansy, you look well, dear,” she replied, standing to greet them. They had been shown into the tea room by the only remaining servant in the house; the butler who was now so old that Draco almost honestly expected him to simply disintegrate one day and blow off in the wind. The ridiculous pseudo-Victorian mannerisms his parents chose to cling to along with the crumbling family home was just one of the many things that had Draco rebelling in leather jackets and bad language.

Yet, he still felt himself reverting to the overly posh ways of his parents sometimes when under pressure or backed into a corner, and it made these visits all the more horrid, since try as he might, he simply couldn’t bring himself to hate his mother and leave it all behind.

It was fucked up.

“Oh, Draco, darling,” she smiled, honestly this time, opening her arms to embrace him. Draco tried not to notice how her hair was more gray than strictly fashionable and her eyes looked just a little too bright to be put down to a youthful spirit.

Well, if there was one place in the world one was going to lose one's mind...

“Mother,” he greeted, leaning down for a kiss.

Narcissa pulled back sharply, her eyes suddenly focused and alarmed as she stared at Draco and he could do nothing but stare back.

What the- "Mother?"

Pansy stepped forward, her hands reached out as if to catch the woman if she suddenly fell, but Narcissa blinked twice before kissed her son on the cheek with a _yes, lovely, dear_  and returned to her chair.

Draco felt his heart beating in his throat and steadfastly ignored the look he was getting from Pansy.

"Sit down, darlings, please. Spencer will bring us tea, won't he," she said brightly, but the little brass bell she used to call for their butler sat untouched on the coffee table. Pansy and Draco took a seat opposite his mother and an unsettling silence filled the room as she seemed to stare _through_ her son for a moment too long before she focused again.

"So how are classes?"

Draco swallowed. “Alright, I’m maintaining the standard required by the scholarship board, and-”

Narcissa was staring at the coffee table now, murmuring _yes, yes_ , as he spoke, and when her eyes flicked over to the large wooden door hidden in the shadows of the far corner of the room, Draco felt his throat tighten.

_Run._

“Draco’s always so modest, he was awarded three class medals at the end of last semester,” Pansy piped up, as cheerfully as she could manage.

“Yes, well, he always was a smart boy, wasn’t he…” his mother trailed off, and Draco stood.

“Mother, it’s been lovely seeing you again, but I have a late lecture that slipped my mind-”

And then Draco realised she wasn’t looking at him anymore, but at the shadowy corner where the ominous door had opened in Draco’s presence for the first time in four years.

“Draco." His father's voice carried through the room like a airborn disease, and Draco's mind went blank. "A word."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I LIVE!
> 
> Sorry for the awfully long wait, I was merely being TORTURED IN THE NAME OF EDUCATION but I'm back now so feel free to rejoice :D And a strangely dark chapter to make up for it! Which probably only raised more questions than anything else, but yeah. Seriously, I set out to write porn, no two ways about it, but then A WILD PLOT APPEARED. Got no choice but to ride it out now, don't we?
> 
> Eh? EH?? ;D GET IT?!
> 
> Sorry (not really). But hey, plot allows me to promise that the next chapter will be more... interesting :D So stick around, folks! Til next time! (Which will be MUCH sooner than last time!)
> 
> ...Oh yeah, lastly: OVER 100 KUDOS WHAT THE HELL HOW DO SO MANY PEOPLE LIKE MY STUFF ENOUGH TO PRESS AN ACTUAL BUTTON TO PROVE IT YOU GUYS ARE AMAZING *crying emoji* Seriously, the kudos, the comments (especially), even just the fact that you're reading this right now - I love you guys. You make it worth it :D


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So many kudos and lovely comments for me!! :D My heart is happy! And now, a slightly longer chapter to make up for the long wait. (Sorry, I love you all!)

* * *

Draco still remembered the day his father kicked him out like it was yesterday. The way he stood in the doorway, his back rigid and his eyes ice cold, his voice even more so.

_You’re no son of mine._

He had first come out as gay at 15, but that went over alright, all things considered. His father wasn’t the type to yell, you see, oh no - way too fucking classy for honesty, the Malfoys. No, instead it was pure contempt. Every waking hour that he spent in that house, his father told him with his sneer, with his upturned nose and nasty jibes - _You’re a Malfoy, Draco, your duty is to your family and the continuation of the bloodline, and you go dallying with boys… Have you no shame? No sense of responsibility? Look at me; I’m an old man and I’ve only ever done what was expected of me and I’m fucking miserable, isn’t this what you want for your life?!_

Okay, so maybe his recollection was paraphrasing a bit. But he could live with that. He _did_ live with that. The constant assumption that this was just a phase and he’d have no choice but to settle into his chosen role soon enough was one he could deal with from his father, but he couldn’t deny it stung that his mother’s sad eyes held the same hope.

When he turned 18 and it became glaringly obvious he wasn’t going to be the man his father always planned he would be, however, he was out on his arse faster than he could say _I’m 18 and two hours old would ya look at that?_

And Draco was relieved.

He had wanted to leave, just like he wanted to leave now, but now, just like then, that wasn’t on the cards.

His father had been staring at him for about three minutes, if the tarnished brass clock on the wall behind his father’s desk was to be believed, but Draco felt it must’ve been running slow.

Still, he waited. Finally, Lucius spoke.

“Draco.”

_Oh, hello old man, it’s only been four years, but let’s not forego the pleasantries._

“Father.”

God, he hated the man.

“Are you taking your medication?”

Draco felt a muscle in his jaw twitch. Well what the actual fuck, daddy dearest. His _medication._ Like he’d really be dumb enough to forget to take it and see his life unravel helplessly before his eyes. But he held his tongue. _Like he had a choice._ When his father asked questions in that tone of voice, he gave an answer. And _only_ an answer.

His hand wandered to his blazer pocket, feeling for the yellow canister of tablets just so he had something to do, but clutched empty black fabric instead.

Draco’s heartbeat was suddenly beating out triple-time and he hoped to hell his father didn’t notice the way the annoyed twitch just became a nervous- _fucking-panicked_ one.

_Shit_. This was NOT his day.

His father raised an eyebrow and Draco’s throat tightened further as he managed a “Yes, Father.”

It wasn’t a lie, technically. He had been taking it. Every day, at a half past four, his phone alarm blared his inadequacies at him and he popped a tab and pretended he was a normal kid. Well, as normal as he was willing to get. Only, the brass clock must’ve been felt insulted at Draco’s silent doubt of its abilities because the thing claimed it was now twenty past four and his tablets were _not in his pocket_.

Fuck fuck fuck. Okay. Think Draco. You can do this.

_…Ask Father for more?_

Yeah, you’re an idiot, shut up.

Lucius looked doubtful, and if he asked outright Draco would be over, so he grit his teeth against the urge to be quiet and muttered, “You know I have no choice.”

His father was quiet a moment, then with a _hn_ he turned and Draco felt his chest lighten. He was out the door before Pansy realised he’d even passed by them.

* * *

The locker room was cold and damp, the sun just peaking over the windows lining the top of the bare walls. Draco ran a hand through his hair for what might’ve been the twentieth time in six minutes; the amount of time it took him to haul ass back to varsity where he’d left his tablets. Maybe. Hopefully.

He’d had swim practise that morning, and must’ve stuffed the canister into his locker along with his duffel bag and swimsuit. Which was disgusting; damp cloth left to sit in a confined space all day, which was why he was planning on fetching it before leaving to see his mother. And then it wouldn’t matter if he left it there, he must’ve thought - he couldn’t remember.

But then Potter. Fuck.

He walked/jogged through the locker room, passing rows of lockers, thankfully deserted at this hour - he was worried he was going to catch the back end of the football crowd but it appeared fate was finally giving him a break.

He yanked his locker open, catching a glimpse of his reflection in the small mirror attached to the door. He looked like he felt; his hair was a mess, falling into his face, over his eyes that were too wide for a Malfoy, his cheeks too flushed. He felt out of breath and now he was really thankful he hadn’t encountered anyone on the way in.

Only, Draco should’ve known better, ‘cause today was not his day, remember?

There was movement in the corner of the mirror, suddenly, and Draco had just enough time to realise someone had come up behind him before he spoke.

“Malfoy.”

Breathe, Draco. Fucking breathe.

“Potter.”

Draco was too warm; it felt as if Potter was radiating heat, and a cautious glance to the side revealing damp bare skin and rock hard abs confirmed that the other man was indeed dressed in a towel. And only a towel. And barely three inches behind Draco now.

“What are you doing here?” the other man growled, and Draco’s breathing did that _oh-what-am-I-doing-I-completely-forgot_ thing and he was sincerely starting to worry about a lack of oxygen supply to what was left of his brain.

“I- I forgot my duffel bag. What are _you_ doing here?”

Leaving. Say leaving. Please.

“Coach made me do extra laps after practise. Said I was…”

Draco felt him step closer and then two large hands were resting on the lockers on either side of his head. Potter sounded completely uninterested in what he was saying, and his nose was suddenly pressed to the skin behind Draco’s ear as he breathed the end of his sentence onto the back of Draco’s neck.

“…too wound up.”

Draco felt the tingle of a bead of sweat running down the side of his neck, and when Potter’s tongue languidly swiped it up, Draco knew he was fucked. His hands reached back of their own accord, tangling in messy black hair and pulling the other man closer. It was hot, he was hot, and Harry was _right there_ and that’s what he really wanted so why not, right-

_Fuck. Meds. Now._

He tore himself from Potter’s grasp and yanked his duffel bag open, scrambling madly for the yellow canister and feeling his stomach leap into his throat as his fingers closed around the cold plastic.

Potter grabbed his wrist before he had a chance to retrieve the tablets and yanked him against the cold steel to his right in one move. Draco raised the hand not pinned to the lockers to shove Potter away before the man could land a punch but found himself clutching bare pecs with one Harry Potter shoved against his mouth instead.

Potter’s lips were insistent and unyielding and Draco’s fingers curled unconsciously against his bare skin before Potter’s tongue swiped across his bottom lip and Draco woke from his stupor.

He pulled back sharply. “Potter, you don’t-”

“Shut up,” the man growled before plastering himself against the front of Draco’s body and claiming his mouth again. Potter took advantage of Draco’s being mid-sentence to slip his tongue between his lips and stroke against Draco’s own. Draco’s protest morphed into an involuntary moan and his eyes slipped shut as one of Potter’s hands fisted in his long hair and pulled just enough to sting.

_Fuck. Fuck. Now._

Draco’s hands ran along Potter’s toned back as the hand not in his hair cupped his ass and pulled him flush against the hardness lifting the front of Potter’s towel. Draco hoisted one leg around Potter’s waist and rolled his hips, his nails sinking into damp skin mercilessly as Potter yanked his head back and scraped his teeth against Draco’s neck. His pulse leapt along with his cock and he couldn’t help the noises that were streaming from him now.

“Oh fuck- I- Fuck- Ah-”

Sharp canines nipped at his earlobe and he felt a growl reverberate right through him as Potter crushed him between his grinding erection and the locker door. “I got you.”

Draco gasped for air and could do little more than cling to Potter as he rolled his hips against him. The combination of the rising heat in his groin and the bulk of the captain of the football team pinning him against the hard metal left him short of breath and he could barely utter more than a strangled _fuck_ as Potter’s relentless onslaught pushed him over the edge.

His vision blacked out for a moment, but he was suddenly pulled from his state of mindlessness when he heard _(felt)_ the sharp snap of teeth next to his ear as Potter came with a low growl that had Draco’s pulse racing in a completely different way to two seconds before.

In what felt like a split second, Potter’s gaze met his again, his eyes cleared and Potter was stepping away, clutching the towel that had lost all chance of holding on during their activities and looking completely…

Completely…

Potter turned, grabbed a duffel from the bench and strode out.

Draco fell to his knees, scrambling for his tablets before spilling half of them onto the floor and swallowing two despite the way his throat was suddenly feeling distinctly tight along with the sting behind his eyes.

Oh God. What had he done?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...
> 
> I'm not even gonna say anything, I'm just gonna smile at you creepily :D
> 
> JUST KIDDING I like the sound of my own typing. Draco would like me to tell you all that he knows he's having a lot of mental breakdowns at ends (and beginnings and middles) of chapters right now but his kindly author has promised Harry will put him back together again soon.
> 
> Or maybe just take him apart again if you know what I mean :D


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel SO BAD for leaving the last chapter like I did so here! Have some of my buffer! It's all going to be okay, I promise! XD

* * *

“Hermione Granger.”

Draco looked up to find a small hand with neatly manicured nails thrust into his face. Following the limb, he was met with a kind but serious face surrounded by a halo of bushy deep red hair.

“Uh,” he managed, shaking the hand automatically, “Draco Malfoy?”

“Pleasure,” she replied, taking a seat opposite him as she placed the three large tomes resting in the crook of her left arm on the table with a thud. The library was silent but for the whisper of turning pages and the odd murmured conversation, and Draco glanced around for any signs of foul play but nope. It had been four days and nineteen hours since the incident in the locker room (but who was counting), and the sky was yet to fall, so he was naturally suspicious.

Everything was just as it always was, however, safe for the woman now sitting in the usually empty seat opposite him.

“Likewise,” he murmured, eyeing her carefully. “You’ll excuse me, but I don’t think I’ve noticed you around before.”

“Oh,” she scoffed, opening one of the textbooks in front of her, “No surprise, I just transferred in last month. Chemistry major,” she finished, flashing him a smile before returning to her browsing.

“Physics,” he supplied.

She laughed. “Oh, you’re not about to give me the ‘chemistry is just applied physics’ speech, are you?”

Draco felt the corners of his lips pull up despite himself. “Academic snobbery is practically a prerequisite to the course.”

“So I’ve heard, but I’m afraid what’s done is done - I’ll just have to put up with you.”

Draco smiled to himself. He liked her. She was quick. He turned back to his book, scanning the lines of quantum mechanics, surfacing ten minutes later to realize he’d absorbed nothing, his notebook lying untouched next to him.

He sighed, and Hermione piped up, “Long day?”

“More like long week,” he replied sullenly, before realizing that he was complaining to a complete stranger and sitting up a little straighter. “Swamped in assignments,” he finished, which technically wasn’t a lie but tasted like one anyway.

Wow. Smooth.

“Cheer up, Malfoy, it can only get better,” Hermione smiled, and Draco cocked his head to one side.

“You can call me Draco.”

Hermione’s gaze dropped to her text again and she cleared her throat. “Oh! Yes, of course - but I so like the sound of Malfoy. It’s French, isn’t it? Old bloodline?”

Draco raised an eyebrow. “Yes. Curious you should recognize it.”

Hermione kept her nose in her book but Draco could see her shift slightly in her seat. Hm. “Oh, you know… I like to read.”

Well. That was vague.

He crossed his arms, leaning back in his seat before he caught sight of the clock on the wall behind Hermione. Shit. He had lunch with Pansy in exactly 3 minutes and if he kept her waiting again she’d be sure to ask prying questions.

He would tell her, of course, as soon as he figured out what it was he had to tell.

“Well, it’s been a blast, but I must be off,” he said, standing to shove his books in his bag.

Hermione smiled up at him. “I’m sure I’ll see you around again.”

Draco smiled back. Interesting.

“Definitely.”

* * *

“I think I just made a friend.”

Pansy nearly choked on her pasta salad, her face turning an amusing shade of red, and Draco considered helping the woman, but then she gulped down half a bottle of water and laughed so hard the cafeteria froze.

“Good thing too, God only knows why I’ve kept you around this long,” Draco drawled through her giggles, turning to look at a first year staring at their table with a “Can I help you?” and the room seemed to reanimate.

“This obviously unbalanced human being have a name?” Pansy snorted.

Ah, Pans, you beaut. It’s no wonder the gents are falling at your feet.

“Hermione Granger.”

“And she goes…?”

“Here, apparently.”

Pansy raised an eyebrow. “Honey. I know every kid in this joint. Ain’t no Hermione Granger.”

_Well, well, well._

“Chemistry major, she claimed. Transferred in last month.”

“I’m _in_ chemistry -”

“Only because you have the hots for Professor Dawson.”

“ _Be that as it may_ , I’m in chem and she’s not. Girl pulled the wool over your eyes.”

“Pansy, stop speaking like a sassy African American.”

Pansy grinned, “You’re going to see her again, aren’t you?”

Draco smirked, for the first time in what felt like days. Probably was. But he had a new mystery, and Harry fucking Potter could go suck a dick.

_Nope, wrong turn of phrase._

“Of course.”

“She hot?”

He shot her a sharp look. “Pansy.”

“Hey, you know I’m equal opportunity,” Pansy quipped, winking and waving her fork in a way that was suggestive for reasons Draco could never explain in words.

“All good and well, but let’s not go fraternizing with bookish girls with a penchant for lying.”

“Gotta say, babe, you’re really selling her here.”

“You’re such a slut.”

“Hey, at least I’ve actually -”

“I’m getting lunch,” Draco said, and made his way over to the nearest counter before she could get another word in. Bitch.

He stared at the selection of foodstuffs in front of him until the woman behind the counter rolled her eyes and left to chat to someone on the other side of the room. It was a truly unappetising selection, but he could never make lunch _and_ get his hair done in the morning, so here he was, and also then there was the thing where he would be doing something and halfway through he’d think of Potter, and that was both annoying and wasted a great deal of time, and-

“Do you mind?”

Think of Potter, and he shall loom threateningly, apparently.

“Not at all.”

Draco didn’t turn to look at him. He didn’t deserve it. Four days and nineteen hours had made Draco panicked, then angry, then vindictive, then _Draco_.

“Move, Malfoy.”

“Manners, Potter, or did you mother never teach you not to jump the queue?”

“Malfoy, I swear -”

“Honestly, Potter, do you have a point, or are you simply vying for my attention in an attempt to swipe the last slice of treacle tart?”

Potter grabbed one shoulder and shoved him to the side, taking a threatening step closer and backing Draco up against the counter.

“I don’t want your attention,” he growled, “You’re nothing to me, Malfoy.”

Draco raised one eyebrow, and stepped closer to Potter in return. Suddenly their position could only be perceived as suggestive, and Draco revelled in it.

Let the world see. Fuck you, Potter.

“ _Oh_. I see what this is about,” he breathed, the picture of innocence, “You think it _meant_ something... You think _I want you_.”

He laughed, lowly, under his breath, and he could see Potter’s gaze flicking between his eyes and his lips. Oh, he’d missed this rush.

“You were hardly my first rodeo, Potter. But- _Oh_ …” Draco’s eyes widened in mock realisation. “I was yours, wasn’t I?”

Strong hands gripped his shoulders and suddenly the counter was digging into his back but he couldn’t help the grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. He was going to take the other man apart. He _deserved_ it.

Potter was yanked off him the next moment, Ron and another one of his cronies - Neville, was it? - each gripping a bicep as they held him back.

“Harry, mate, what are you doing?!” Ron asked, glancing between Draco and his irate best friend in concern.

Potter was glaring at him now, his jaw clenched so hard Draco thought he might crack a molar if he kept it up, but a trip to the dentist was hardly the worst Draco wished on him.

“Well, Potter, as fun as our little _encounter_ was,” Draco murmured, stepping forward with a cheeky wink, “I think it’s best if we agree to be just friends, don’t you?”

Ron gawked, Neville’s eyebrows disappeared into his hairline, Potter growled and Draco smirked. _Have fun, Potty._

He strode back over to their table, swinging his bag onto his shoulder and throwing a casual “Close your mouth, Pansy, we should beat it before the Weasel remembers how his brain works,” at his best friend before sauntering out the door.

Draco Malfoy was _back_.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been so long :O So many sorries! Turns out adulting means you can't tell your landlady you'd really rather write fanfic than pay rent this month, so yeeeah. But the saga continues!
> 
> P.S. I am adding an official disclaimer that half the comments on this fic are mine. Seriously. This is not a drill. Sorry, if that's misleading, but I can't not talk to you guys, you're awesome! :D

* * *

Ginny fucking Weasley was all over Harry fucking Potter and Draco didn’t give two. Fucking. Hoots.

At all.

“Draco, honey, the fork is not your enemy.”

Draco released his death grip on his cutlery and breathed deeply through his nose. See. It was fine.

“We really need to get out more. We spend too much time in the cafeteria.”

Pansy threw him a sideways glance and snorted. “Yeah, okay, way to change the subject.”

“We should try the bleachers.”

“So we can watch the Ginger Disgrace shove her tongue down Potter’s throat some more in between cheers? No thanks.”

Draco hummed. “The Ginger Disgrace. That’s new. I like it. Sounds like Christmas at Snape’s.”

Pansy pulled a face. “Ugh, are you and Potter in cahoots to thoroughly ruin my lunch today?”

“Did something just mention Draco and the great Harry Potter in the same sentence? My goodness, the world will surely meet its untimely end.”

Blaise practically fell into the empty seat to Draco’s left with a shit-eating grin and Draco tried not to claw his face off as he nearly spilt coffee on his pullover. It was one of his favourites; just the right combination of "You know you wanna fuck me" and "But I'm waaaaaay out of your league."

“The prodigal son has returned!” Pansy exclaimed, and Draco growled.

“Don’t fucking encourage him, Pansy.”

Blaise pouted. “Aaaw, Draco, it’s like you didn’t even notice I was gone.”

Draco stared at him blankly, and Blaise blinked. “Oh.”

“Oh, don’t mind him, darling, he’s got time for only one person these days,” Pansy drawled, leaning over the table to Blaise, “Now tell me, how was she?”

Blaise smirked, and leaned back in his chair. “Well, if you _must_ know-”

Draco hummed the tune of Gravity Falls and scanned the room idly. If he had to listen to another one of Blaise’s battle reports, he was going to puke. He’d frankly lost count. Pansy was the only one of their dysfunctional posse who was here on real money; Draco worked his ass off for his scholarship and Blaise - well, Blaise made use of the resources available to him. Draco would call him a whore, if he didn’t know that the man was doing it for pleasure more than business.

Plus, it made Blaise’s degree in Women’s Studies ironic. And Draco liked irony.

Either way, this meant they didn’t see Blaise except for between conquests. Draco sometimes wondered what Blaise planned to do when he’d worked through the entire female student body - he supposed there would always be a new freshman to woo.

Draco shuddered.

“- and at this point I started realizing I was in over my head a little, but the handcuffs were fucking _real_ so I really had no choice -”

Nope.

Draco returned to his musings, but there was precious little to contemplate other than the aforementioned happy couple. He was apparently not the only one to think so, with the rest of the room not-so-discreetly gawking at the sight as well.

_Don’t frown, Draco, you’re too young for wrinkles._

Draco had been _winning_. And then Potter strolled into the cafeteria and was snogging his best friend’s little sister faster than Draco could say _that’s a little fucking creepy, don’t you think_.

I mean, Jesus. Ron was sitting right there. Have a little decency.

And really, that was the only reason Draco found the whole thing upsetting, because _fine_ , he was a little bothered, but it wasn’t because of Potter. No, it was just the whole thing was in very poor taste. Everyone had always assumed Potter and the Ginger were dating, but other than the girl draping herself over him at every opportunity, Potter never really seemed to be one for PDAs. Which was probably the only reasonable life choice the man had ever made, if Draco had to be honest.

This new public aspect to their relationship just reeked of a complete lack of class, and if Draco had to give the whole situation a good once-over, which he would only ever do out of an academic curiosity, the Ginger appeared to be the only one really enthused by it.

Ugh. Fuck Potter. He deserved all the misery he could garner.

"So Draco's got a new conquest, does he?" Blaise seemed to have come to the end of his horrendous recount, and was now onto the next bit of gossip. Man never could keep his mouth shut, though, so Draco spoke before Pansy could blurt out his life story.

"Not a conquest, per se, more of a... score to settle."

The truth was Potter hadn't so much as looked at Draco since he entered the room, and that was irksome. Draco looked fucking fantastic today. Least Potter could do was notice when he came up for air.

This was war, dammit, but did the man have no honor code?

"Ah, I see. Wouldn't happen to have anything to do with the rumors about -"

Oh, it was war indeed.

“Blaise,” Draco practically purred, cutting him off. He watched the man’s eyes flicker over to him once, assessing, before he slipped into an easy smile, angling his body towards Draco just enough to show he had his attention, if anyone happened to be watching.

Draco supposed there was a reason he kept him around after all.

“So what are we playing at today, then?”

Draco folded his arms on the table and tilted his head slightly. “Like I would tell you. Just sit there and look enthralled.”

Blaise’s smile became flirtatious. “You’re lucky the girls think a guy playing for both teams is sexy or you might have to actually engage in a _real_ relationship.”

Draco laughed like Blaise had just said something terribly witty and he couldn’t wait to get the man’s pants off in reward. “Oh, Blaise, don’t think I won’t turn your balls into ornaments for Pansy’s Christmas tree.”

“Wow, Draco, you really know how to treat a girl,” Pansy deadpanned into her lunch.

“There’s a reason I’m bent, sweetie,” Draco sing-songed, running one finger along Blaise’s collar as the other man leaned closer in response. Perfect.

"Don't think I won't be hearing this story later, Malfoy," Blaise murmured.

"You probably won't be around long enough."

“Huh. I think I’ll go for Daphne Greengrass next. She’s been eyeing me a while,” Blaise whispered, and Draco had to fight not to roll his eyes.

“Sometimes I wonder what you’re trying to prove, Zabini,” Draco winked.

“Oh aren’t we _hilarious_ ,” Blaise smiled.

“Not to alarm you, Draco, dearest,” Pansy muttered, “but Potter’s glaring two holes right through you.”

Draco tilted his head in a way that he knew made his hair fall into his eyes just right, and hooked one finger into the front of Blaise’s shirt. “That so?”

“Potter? _Seriously?_ Jesus, Malfoy, one day you’re going to get me killed.”

Draco grinned like the cat that got the canary, and tucked a strand of hair behind Blaise’s ear casually. He leaned forward, one hand sliding up Blaise’s thigh as he moved to whisper into his ear. Draco cast his gaze slightly to the right, finally meeting Potter’s hard stare. Holding his gaze, Draco flicked his tongue across Blaise’s earlobe, and winked.

_Perfect._

“Oh honey… You have no idea.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enter convenient Blaise. XD
> 
> I also apologise for another cafeteria scene. Seriously. My varsity life kinda consists of lecture theatre lecture theatre lecture theatre lab (secretly eat lunch in the lab even though the radioactive sources might kill me) lecture theatre lecture theatre library. I have no idea what normal college kids do or where they go. In case you hadn't figured that out.
> 
> I'll do better next time.
> 
> AND HEY OVER 300 KUDOS YOU GUYS ARE EVERYTHING GREAT IN THE WORLD!! Thanks for the love and the comments, seriously, I adore you guys <3


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUESS WHO'S NOT DEAD :D
> 
> Without further ado, a new installment. Please find all my author rantings included at the end :D

* * *

Don’t look back: the first rule of executing a badass exit.

Also the quickest way to find oneself pinned against a corridor wall by one Harry Potter, Draco had recently discovered. Would conveniently also make a half-decent title for the ironic memoir he was penning in his head in his last living moments.

Potter looked _livid_.

No, not angry, that just didn’t cover it. Not furious, as one would be after someone keyed your car, or enraged, although that one was closer.

Potter was livid. Draco could feel the tension pull the air thin until he was catching his breath on every second inhale, Potter’s straining muscles like a coiled spring inches from the blonde’s face. Potter’s hands were pressed firmly to the wall on either side of Draco’s head, his biceps clenching along with his jaw every so often, and somehow the fact that he hadn’t laid a finger on Draco so far made it so much scarier. He looked like he was about to erupt; let out a wave of rage so thick it would hit Draco like a bus before Potter even touched him.

_Oh yes, let’s wax lyrical while the mountain range decides how to dispense of your existence._

“Potter, I’d love to say it’s a pleasure meeting you like this again, but it isn’t.”

Potter slammed one fist into the bare brick wall and Draco promptly shut up. He watched as his captor drew one long breath, before running the aforementioned hand through his hair on the exhale. Draco noticed the bloody knuckles and stayed shut up.

“I’m sorry.”

Draco would have rolled his eyes if they weren't glued to the man towering over him. “Calm yourself, Potter, takes a little more than that to scare -”

Potter shook his head, eyes trained unseeingly on Draco's shoes. “About the other night, in the locker rooms. I really shouldn’t have done that.”

Draco felt the heat race up the back of his neck and grit his teeth. So Potter regretted it. Fine. To be expected, even. He was straight - or he thought he was, and that was good enough to make him beat himself up over it. Hardly Draco’s problem. _Breathe, Malfoy, fuck_.

“Well, never fret, you made it abundantly clear just how sorry you were when you ran,” Draco sneered, regretting it instantly. That was not the narrative of the casually unaffected.

Potter shook his head again and Draco wished he'd at least  _look_ at him again so Draco could figure out what he was thinking.

"That's not what I mean and you know it."

Draco barked out a laugh that was as derisive as it was nervous. "Oh, so now you deign to know my mind? Shove off, Potter, I've got things to see and  _people to do._ "

Potter growled and grit his teeth. “Jesus, can you just _stop_ , for one second, I’m trying to have a fucking conversation -”

“Oh my, I hadn’t realized!" Draco stepped forward, in the two inches he could, and crossed his arms. "How about I pencil you in just after never fucking ever -”

Suddenly Potter had one hand around the nape of Draco’s neck and his lips pressed firmly against the blonde’s. Draco squeaked and Potter pressed his chest against Draco, who struggled to free his trapped arms before shoving Potter away and landing one solid blow to his jaw.

Fist fights were really not his style, but he was spitting mad. His cheeks were flushed, he could feel it, and it angered him even further that Potter might realize what affect he had on the blonde.

_Fuck!_

“Don’t you fucking dare,” he sneered.

Potter looked surprised, his face open for a moment before he narrowed his eyes and the jaw twitch was back. Draco told himself that he preferred it that way, but he had a heaviness in the pit of his stomach that just made him angrier.

“Why the fuck not?" Potter growled, his tone low. "Like you said, it's _not your first rodeo or anything_.”

Draco clenched his jaw and pretended he couldn't feel the sting behind his eyes. “ _Fuck you._ ”

“Oh, I really rather think it's going to be the other way around.”

Draco laughed, and it was harsh, and he hated the sound of it. He hated that he had to sound like that.

“If you think I’m going to be your dirty little secret, Potter, a quick roll in the hay to satisfy your urges before you get back to being the golden boy, you are sorely mistaken.”

“Don’t -" Potter shouted before he grit his teeth in an effort to lower the volume, " _Don’t_ call me that. I am no one’s golden boy.”

“You should probably let your fanclub know, I think they missed the memo.”

“Do you do your best to be a snarky fuck 24/7 or does it come naturally?”

"Do you make a habit of propositioning men of a conflicting sexual orientation or should I feel flattered?"

"What is it you who you screw -"

“Jesus, _we don’t even know each other!_ ” Draco snarled.

Potter slammed one fist against the wall and Draco had a moment to see his life flash before his eyes before Potter spun around and was across the hallway in two long steps, planting both hands on the wall opposite as if to stabilize himself. Suddenly the empty space between them seemed gargantuan with only the sound of their laboured breathing to fill it. Draco wanted nothing but to slump against the wall behind him, but he kept himself upright and watched the man altogether too close and too far from him wearily.

“What are you doing?”

Potter ran one hand through his hair, and gave a short laugh. “Something tremendously stupid.”

“Well color me shocked, I -”

Suddenly Potter spun around, and his eyes were bright and focused. “Malfoy, have lunch with me.”

Draco waited. Counted to three, took a deep breath or two, and Potter was still looking at him like that.

“…So that's the line you're going with then?”

“Fine, maybe not lunch, people would notice - early supper. At the lake. Two days from now. Friday.”

Draco stared some more, because this was a train wreck, but morbid curiosity and he were very well acquainted. “Potter, I know you recently took a blow to the head, but I’m pretty sure it wasn’t _that_ bad.”

“Malfoy, God, it’s not difficult - Well, okay, it’s complicated as fuck, and this is going to get me into so much shit-” Potter muttered, running his hands through his hair again, before returning his determined gaze to Draco. “Just it doesn’t matter, okay. I don’t care. Have supper with me. Friday.”

“Potter, why on earth would I even _begin_ to consider -” Draco started, crossing his arms between them and hoping to hell his eyes didn’t give away how honest that question really was.

“I just want to talk.”

"Seriously, after all -" Draco threw his hands up and let out a sound that was more cry of disbelief than laugh. "Were you not in the same hallway as myself just now?! The fact that we are currently conversing without bloodshed is frankly -"

“Just to get to know each other.”

"God, you don't _want_ to get to know me, trust me -"

Potter strode across the hallway but this time when he planted a hand on either side of Draco’s head the blonde felt like blushing and that was _annoying_. Potter’s eyes were wide and earnest, but Draco couldn’t bring his internal voice to spit the word like he would have a moment ago, and that was annoying as well.

He should say how annoying it is.

...Any moment now.

“Malfoy. Please.”

God.

He was so fucked.

“Fine.”

One corner of Potter’s lips quirked. “What was that?”

“ _Fine_. I said fine, Potter, don’t push it,” Draco muttered, using the behemoth’s good mood to push past him and stride down the hall.

“Friday!” Potter called, and Draco waved one hand in a _yes, yes_ gesture without looking back.

Potter didn’t have to know it was because Draco didn’t want the other man to see him smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sincerest apologies, my precious people, for the delay. I realize it's been, like, a month since I last updated, and that's just horrendous. Yet every day I get an email telling me people are still sending me kudos and commenting, though, and that makes me so happy XD
> 
> School started again this week, and then also I have to work to pay rent. It's been suggested that I start a Patreon so that I can write more and work less, but this is something I feel I'm going to have to think about. For one, this is my first "official" story. Also, as someone who's read fanfic myself for 10+ years, I realize that most of you (like me) might love an author but barely have enough to feed yourself, so yeah. I get it.
> 
> Also, I wouldn't be able to offer rewards since you can't make money off fanfic, actually, so my Patreon would basically just be a tip jar. So yeah. I'm thinking about it. I have an idea for an original M/M novel, so I might wait til I start that to launch a Patreon and then I can do it properly. What do you bro's think? Send me your wisdom!
> 
> Either way, I WILL be finishing this story, and I'm going to be aiming for weekly updates but please don't feel discouraged if I miss one. I'll be back. Promise.
> 
> All my love! You guys RULE!
> 
> P.S. Anybody else excited over the staggering amount of amazing trailers released after Comic-Con?! CAN'T WAIT FOR FANTASTIC BEASTS!!! :D Eddie Redmayne, amirite? <3


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ..I'm not even going to say anything or make any promises. This was a really difficult chapter to write for some reason. Like, took me two whole months. That's my story and I'm totally sticking to it XD Still love you guys  <3

* * *

“You’re _late_ ,” Hermione admonished, one eyebrow raised in a manner that Draco recognized as distinctly Malfoyesque.

“Sincerest apologies, ma’am, I seem to be running a little behind schedule today,” Draco quipped, taking his usual seat opposite the redhead.

Hermione looked him up and down, her eyes narrowing slightly. “I thought Malfoys were never late.”

“What?” Draco asked, looking up from where he’d been rifling through his bag for a pen, coming up empty handed. It was Friday, and it was all Draco could think about.

_Friday._

Had his head not been attached to his shoulders… Well, he wasn’t sure he hadn’t lost his head, actually.

Hermione chuckled, lowering her voice as they drew disgruntled stares from the library at large. “ _Or_ distracted. Goodness, Draco, if I didn’t know better I’d say you were in love.”

“I-” Draco leveled Hermione with an assessing stare. “You _do_ know better.”

“ _Do I?_ ”

Hermione started as the table suddenly buzzed to life, grabbing her phone and busying herself reading the message while Draco smirked. He watched as her mouth pulled tight, before typing a reply with way more force than a touchscreen ever needed to see and slamming the device face down on the wooden surface again.

“Tetchy. Who’s the lucky human on the other end?”

Hermione pulled a face and dragged her bushy mane into a ponytail. Draco really was going to do something about that hair one day, and it wasn’t going to like it.

“My boyfriend’s mother.”

Draco raised an eyebrow. This was the first he was hearing about a boyfriend, but he didn’t want to scare her off with the usual Slytherin interrogation.

The truth was, as much as Draco was still trying to figure out who this mysterious little liar was, he was also really enjoying Hermione’s company. They met at least once a week to study, and while they did actually get a fair amount of work done - Hermione, despite not attending class there as she claimed, seemed to be taking fairly similar maths courses to himself _somewhere_ , and she wasn’t a simpleton - they also got a fair amount of talking done. All indefinite, mostly, tales of unnamed people with few discerning features wronging them in vague ways, but there was a certain amount of comfort in the anonymity. A lack of judgement. Draco loved Pansy as much as a gay man could love a woman, but _God_ , she played judge, jury and executioner.

“She doesn’t think I’m good enough, that’s the truth of it," Hermione sighed, "Oh, she _pretends_ , and R- my boyfriend would never suspect his kind old mother of such underhandedness, but she sabotages me around every corner. _Oh, Hermione, dear, are you reading again?”_ she mocked in a high pitched tattle, before slamming her hand down on the table. “Because my kind should be in the kitchen, of course, barefoot and pregnant, making her _stupid_ soufflés that fall flat _every time_ \- I swear that’s the only reason she asks me to make them, Draco, I swear she doesn’t even like them. She just wants to see me fail at being _her_ idea of a perfect ma- girlfriend- whatever!” Hermione finished with a flourish, crossing her arms as she slumped in her chair.

Draco leaned forward, smirking. “Oh God, how am I only hearing about this boyfriend and his delightful creator _now_?”

Hermione shifted in her seat. “Well - I’m sorry, I really shouldn’t offload on you in the first place, and -”

He waved one hand dismissively. “Oh please, by all means, offload all your earthly woes. I'm only slightly offended you've kept this gold to yourself all this time.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, smiling slightly. "You're such a gossip, Malfoy."

"Sharing is good for the soul, I'm told," Draco drawled, his smirk firmly in place even as Hermione adopted an expression he dreaded seeing on anyone but himself.

“Speaking of… Not like you’ve ever told me about _your_ boyfriend.”

Draco leaned back and crossed his arms, cool and collected because there was nothing to be anything other than cool and collected about, of course. “That’s because there’s nothing to tell.”

“Oh no, you don’t!” Hermione was the one leaning over the table now, trying to keep her voice down in her excitement. “You dodged me earlier but there’s no way a guy like you gets through college single!”

Draco smirked. “Single doesn’t mean lonely, honey.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes, and he had to admit it made him a little nervous. She seemed to have an uncanny ability to see through the bullshit sometimes. “Draco.”

“Spit it out, Granger.”

“Oh come _on_ , you and I _both_ know you’re much too high maintenance to just be someone’s fuck buddy.”

“I am _not_ high maintenance -”

“Please, you make topiary look like a lazy Sunday afternoon.”

"That... is such a confusing simile."

"Doesn't detract from my point."

"Oh my, would you look at that, I'm late for a -" Draco glanced at his phone and started, grabbing his bag. "Shit!"

Hermione rolled her eyes, smiling even as she drawled "I'm going to let that one go.”

But Draco was already gone.

* * *

 

The lake was on the far side of campus, past the football fields and over a grassy knoll that left the body of water and its green banks hidden to the mill of students attending the university. It was beautiful, especially at this time of day when the sun was just dipping below the trees lining the other end of the water, yet very few people bothered to come this far after a long day of classes. Draco was one of the few that did, and even then, not often at all, so it really was no surprise that the lake was deserted.

Completely deserted.

Potter wasn't there.

Of course.

Draco dropped his bag next to the softly lapping edge of water, falling down next to it with all the grace of a Malfoy stood up. Pulling out his pack of cigarettes - he was running low, damn Pansy and her sponging - he withdrew one and just felt the fragile paper and tobacco between his fingers for a while. His mind felt strangely empty, yet at the same time fuzzy, like there were many things he knew he had to think about, yet couldn't find the energy to focus on any one. Potter wasn't there, and he knew that he wouldn't be, of course - except that wasn't true.

Draco lifted the cigarette to his mouth and lit it quickly, taking a deep drag and feeling the nicotine clear his head.

“Since when do you smoke?”

It was only years of fine breeding that stood between Draco and falling face first into the lake. Good god, he was really far gone if he didn't even hear Potter come up behind him until the man spoke.

Instead, Draco merely raised an eyebrow, not bothering to turn around. “Since always. Why would you know?”

Potter took a seat next to him, leaning back on his hands as he looked over at Draco unashamedly, from what Draco could make out in his periphery as he stared at the lake resolutely.

“Yeah, why would I…”

Silence reigned, as the trail of Potter's words hang in the air, and Draco pretended he didn't feel the heat behind his ears. He was not blushing. He was smoking. He would not look at Potter. The sun was only just filtering through the trees now, causing the lake to sparkle even as the rest of the earth was bathed in a soft orange light. It was as if time stood still.

Draco's eyes flickered to the side. Damn.

Potter was staring at Draco’s lips, where they were pursed around the cigarette as he inhaled. Draco held the smoke in his lungs for long seconds -  _five, six -_  feeling the burn and relishing in it, using it to keep him grounded. He felt Potter's gaze rake over his throat as it worked against the urge to breathe, felt it for long as he could bear. Draco exhaled, and turned back to the lake.

"You're late."

Potter ran a hand through his hair, letting out a forced laugh. "Yeah, sorry, sometimes it's just impossible to get away."

Draco could've rolled his eyes. "Poor Potter, always having to beat his fanclub back with a stick."

It sounded more bitter than Draco would've liked, and he felt his eyebrows pull together.

"I didn't think you'd wait," Potter replied instead.

"I didn't."

Silence hung heavy in the air, and Draco were sure if he turned, he'd see Potter with his eyebrows in his hairline.

"I'm smoking," he stated, instead, not quite sure why he was explaining himself.

"I'm glad you're smoking."

Draco didn't really know what to say to that.

"So... how are you doing?"

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Really? That's your opener?"

Potter sighed, but Draco could feel him shift beside him. Irritation? "That's usually how conversations work, Malfoy."

_Conversations. Right. Talking. The reason we're here._

"I'm surprised, Potter, that you're capable of that much civility," Draco quipped.

Potter growled, and Draco tried not to think too hard on how it thrilled him somewhat to elicit that reaction from the other man.

_I suppose it's difficult to hold a conversation with someone when all you can think about is how they look naked._

The thought irked him, made his skin itch, so he smirked instead, and, because he was Draco Malfoy, he poked the bear.

"I'd always taken you for an uncultured beast."

Suddenly he was on his back, his arms pressed firmly to the ground on either side of his head as Potter loomed over him. Dark green eyes held his steadily, commanding him not to look away even as he felt like they stole the breath from his lungs and he felt his head spin from the sudden disorientation.

 _Oh damn_ , he thought, and reveled in the rush.

"You think you're so much more refined, so much more _civil_ , because you've cultivated this person you dress up as every morning and present to the world," Potter growled, so low and controlled that Draco felt his scalp heat up. Potter leaned down, his face mere moments from Draco's own, and Draco could feel the other man's breath, steady and restrained, on Draco's parted lips, even as his own hitched in his throat. 

"You think it's enough to keep the world out, to keep people from digging too deep, because they think it's perfect, it's beyond improvement, but it just makes me want to take it apart."

Draco's skin prickled everywhere - he may have gotten under Potter's skin figuratively but it felt as if Potter was literally under his. Draco could feel his heat but Potter wasn't touching him; nowhere except where his forearms pressed firmly against Draco's own, and Draco felt himself arch up at an attempt to get some contact, but Potter growled and he lay still.

"I want to rip the clothes from your body until there's nothing hiding you, hiding your _need_. I want to make you writhe until you can't be bothered to care what your hair looks like, until you're as naked on the inside as you are on the outside."

Potter's head dipped under Draco's chin, and his eyes slipped shut as he felt hot breath along the column of his throat. Draco dared only tilt his head to the side, providing Potter better access even as the man refused to touch him, and Draco could only bite his lip against the desperate moan lodged in his throat. He was aching and he couldn't think straight and Potter wasn't _touching him_.

"You see, I may be a beast, but I know _exactly_ what to do with you," Potter growled against his jugular, and Draco uttered a silent cry as he recognized his own words thrown back at him.

"And if I am a beast, Draco Malfoy, then so are you."

Draco's eyes snapped open and he shoved Potter off him with the strength only drawn from panic so sudden it almost makes you sick. He scrambled to his feet, grabbing his book bag as a shield, an anchor, something to hold onto as he rounded on Potter, the words spilling out of him like vomit as he tried not to sound like he was on the brink of hyperventilation. He was still hard, a complete mess, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

“I don’t know what you thought was going to happen here today, Potter, but it doesn't matter. Our worlds - they don’t fit together. And they never will.”

Draco watched, as Potter's jaw tightened and his eyes darkened with something other than arousal and determination. Something inside Draco wanted to take it back, wanted to make him stop looking like that, like a man on his walk to the gallows, but he couldn't. He wouldn't. 

“Have a nice life, Potter.”

Draco turned and walked away.

Potter didn’t stop him.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Gasp* Another update?! Am I redeeming myself yet? I'm trying. XD
> 
> Trigger warning for attempted sexual assault. Nothing explicit, just lots of sleezy words and ideas. :(

* * *

Draco was surprised his living room door was still on its hinges by the time he was done slamming it.

He stalked into the tiny kitchenette, yanking open cupboard doors until he found a cup and saucer, slamming it against the counter with enough force to chip the corner of the porcelain. He waited, his body tense as a tightrope as the kettle boiled. At the whistle of steam, he filled the cup, reaching for the tea only to find he had run out.

The cup and saucer was hurled against the opposite wall, splintering into a handful of chunks with a distressing clatter.

Draco needed to get Potter out of his system.

* * *

The club was smoky and stuffy, the bar sticky under Draco’s fingers, and he was sure the strobe lights were going to induce an epileptic fit in exactly three seconds. Sweaty men pressed up against him from all sides, and he downed his second drink in the space of 10 minutes. Watching the girl behind the bar fill him up and flounce over to the next customer without so much as a second glance, he was both relieved and irritated at finding the sort of joint where this kind of thing didn't bear judgement.

The blonde to his left was still nattering on, having taken a seat next to Draco a little while ago and taken his complete indifference as an invitation to stay. Draco was looking for company - the kind that had stilled his hand before he could call up Pansy, lest she talk him out of it - but the little bastard was just that - too little. If he was even legal, Draco would be surprised, but even then he wasn't interested in someone who couldn't hold his own.

The girl behind the bar plopped another drink onto the counter before him, and he raised an eyebrow - he was still busy with the last refill, she was getting a bit eager - before she pointed over to the other side of the bar and giggled  _From that guy over there._

Draco looked over and studied the man smirking in his direction. He had dark hair, tall and obviously hiding quite the physique beneath that black t-shirt, and he was making the kind of eye contact that should have left Draco with goosebumps.

Instead, he felt tepid, which was infuriating enough for Draco to throw back his drink and carry the next one over to its buyer.

He smirked at the brunette, settling down on the stool next to him gracefully, tilting his head in invitation. He had left modesty at the door on his way out; he was wearing his pair of leather pants that left little to the imagination, his hair tousled - _guess who just got fucked_ , it said smugly - and he knew he looked delicious.

"Quite the looker you left behind there," the man said, glancing over at the blonde Draco had all but forgotten about - oops - and looking obviously pleased with himself.

"I prefer them tall, dark and handsome, personally," Draco replied easily.

The man raised an eyebrow, moving closer. "Oh really?"

_Yip, really. Tall, dark, handsome, angry, with terrible conversational skills and a penchant for pressing me against flat surfaces -_

Draco was really going to have to do something about the voices in his head.

"I'm Draco," he offered, instead.

"Derek," the other man - _Derek, apparently, urgh_  - smiled, "So, tell me Draco, what's a guy like you doing in a place like this?"

Draco had to reel in all his self-control in order to not roll his eyes. _Oh my God, seriously, where did this guy learn to flirt?_ He had kind eyes, was obviously a good guy, but Draco wasn't looking for a good guy, this wasn't _working_ -

"I'm here to dance," Draco purred in answer, grabbing Derek's wrist and leading him to the center of the packed dance floor. The music drowned out everything - bad pick up lines and traitorous inner voices included - and Draco felt Derek step behind him and pull Draco flush against his chest, hands on Draco's hips as they swayed to the monotonous electronic beat in what little space they could claim. Draco closed his eyes and focused on the music pounding through his brain, the warmth of hands on his skin as they slipped beneath the thin material of his shirt and caressed his hipbones, the feeling of hot breath on the back of his neck, trailing down the side of his neck and behind his ear as he titled his head to the side in submission. He pressed his hips against the hardness behind him, letting the power rush through him like a waterfall, and just _felt_.

"Oh God, I want you so much," Derek husked onto his ear, and Draco flinched involuntarily.

_Wrong, wrong, wrong_ -

He felt Derek's arms go slack around him at his reaction, and he turned quickly, looking to remedy the situation, pass it off as a nervous twitch, but when he caught sight of the man's eyes - blue, just this side of green, but blue, goddammit - he could only manage a quick "I'm sorry" before turning and weaving unsteadily through the crowd of writhing bodies. He was sure he was going to be sick, the air in the club hot and cloying in his throat, the grinding couples providing endless obstacles until suddenly he was stumbling through the back door and into the cool late night air. Draco threw his head back, dragging in lungfuls of air and focusing on the puffs of condensation appearing on every exhale, trying to anchor himself as the world spun on its axis.

_What are you doing, Draco Malfoy?_

Draco turned and started down the alleyway, towards the main road. It took him a moment to orientate himself, realizing he had probably drunk a little more than was wise when out on one's own, but couldn't bother to beat himself up over it.

_Look at us, just the epitome of great choices today._

He shivered against the cold, reaching to pat down his pockets for his cigarettes and realizing belatedly that he had left his jacket in a locker in the club in his haste to get out. Sighing, he looked back towards the door that had swung closed behind him, trying to muster the will to go back and fetch it and failing. It'd be in the lost and found tomorrow - along with his dignity, probably, although Draco wasn't sure that he hadn't lost that way before his ill-conceived outing.

He spun on his heels again only to nearly walk into someone.

Draco stumbled back a step, disorientated both from too much alcohol and the height on the man towering over him. The man reached forward, grabbing his arm as if to steady him and Draco's heartbeat picked up in triple time.

_Shit._

Yanking his arm back from the man's grasp, Draco put on the most contemptuous expression he could muster as the man only seemed to smile wider at his fight.

"Excuse me," Draco sneered, attempting to side-step the behemoth, hoping the man was all bravado and would let him pass without a hassle.

No such luck.

"Now, now, gorgeous, just where do you think you're going?" the man asked, leaning an arm against the wall and effectively cutting off Draco's exit route.

"Away from you," he spat.

The man laughed and it was like sandpaper on Draco’s skin. “Yeah, sure, honey. I know your type. A pretty little thing like you just loves playing hard to get, don't you?”

Draco caught movement out of the corner of his eye; a shadow at the entrance of the alley, and he raised his voice as he changed tactic, hoping to hell and back that it wasn’t another pervert closing in.

“Listen, I’m meeting my boyfriend out front, so just leave me the fuck alone before -”

The man dipped his head forward and Draco gagged at the scent of his breath on his face. “Shhh, baby, why can’t you just calm down and enjoy yourself -”

Draco threw his head forward, feeling bone crunch as he connected with the man’s nose. He didn’t have the best angle, and could feel his head start spinning again. The man cursed loudly and grabbed Draco by the neck, hoisting him up on his toes as he slammed him against the wall to his side, his head cracking against the bricks. There were spots of black in Draco’s vision now, and he gasped for air but came away empty handed.

“You little bitch, I tried to be nice, now I’m gonna show you what happens to boys who can't behave.”

Draco clawed at the hand cutting off his air supply, scrambling for an opening as the man laughed and shoved his disgusting face against Draco's own again.

_“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”_

Suddenly there was a figure behind the man, a hand reaching out to grab monumental pervert by the hair and throw him against the opposite wall like he was a rag doll. Draco fell, slouched on cold concrete as he tried to suck oxygen into his lungs and make out the shadows on the opposite side of the alleyway. Sounds were muffled and he kept veering between darkness and consciousness, but the man was gone and there was the voice from the darkness, and he knew he knew that voice from somewhere but he just couldn’t think straight, everything was too fuzzy…

“Malfoy?”

The voice in the darkness, God, he wished he could place it. He opened his eyes, trying to focus on the figure now crouched before him. Dark hair, kind eyes... He was falling off the edge, he could feel two hands cradling his head and he tried to grab onto them but his eyes kept slipping shut and everything was going dark.

“Draco?! Jesus, Draco, look at me, come on!”

That was the last he heard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I take after Draco in the sense that I, too, start throwing things around when I run out of tea.
> 
> Urgh. I do feel like that encounter with Derek was a tab brief, but I just couldn't bring myself to write more Draco-with-anyone-other-than-Harry-dearest. Does that make me a bad writer? I don't care. I'm just here for the Drarry smut XD
> 
> Next chapter the world turns on its head! Yay!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew. I meant to have this chapter out ages ago but it just kept getting longer and longer and I didn't want to break it up. Enjoy!

* * *

Draco woke up in a strange bed. There were a number of clues: the sheets were too soft to be his own - he could never afford such luxury - and the bed was large enough that he wasn't crowded up against the wall by the person next to him.

The person next to him.

Oh God.

The back of his head throbbed obnoxiously, and Draco could only assume this was the universe punishing him for drinking too much and going home with a man he didn't know. Or couldn't remember. Every time he tried to piece together his path to the strange bed, something stabbed him behind his ear and he had to do some deep breathing.

_Alright, man up, Malfoy, let's see who you threw your v-card at._

If only to chase away that thought, Draco cracked one eye, bracing for an onslaught of stabbing white rays of light. The hangover Gods seemed kind this morning, however - as kind as they can be, in any case - and the light was subdued, barely filtering through the drawn curtains. The ceiling was bathed in a warm yellow glow, and Draco remembered a lake and a pair of intense green eyes before deciding that the identity of his paramour could be no worse than that set of memories, so he ripped off the proverbial band-aid.

Ah. Derek. Of course.

He couldn't make out the man's face from his perspective, seeing as Derek was sleeping with his back to Draco, but the pillow next to his was cradling a head of messy black hair atop some seriously impressive shoulders - not wearing a shirt, similar to Draco himself, he just realized, feeling his face heat up - so it had to be Derek. Of course.

_Yes, of course, you moron, who else could it be?_

He needed to get out of here. Draco sat up slowly, biting his lip not to groan as he held his head in his hands for a moment, allowing the sharp pain behind his eyes to pass. Exhaling slowly, he looked over at the sleeping man next to him. Even sitting up Draco couldn't make out any more of his face, but it was really neither here nor there at this stage. Taking a cursory glance around the room, he allowed himself a moment of relief, both at the state of the place - and by extension, that he was to leave it - and at the fact that a king size bed pushed up against a wall suggested he had not contributed to the explosive end of an established relationship.

Oh, if Pansy could see him now.

As soothing as that last point was to his conscience, it was extremely unhelpful to his escape efforts.

_Well. Nothing for it._

Slowly, channeling his inner chameleon, Draco reached one hand over the sleeping man next to him, placing it softly but firmly on the mattress next to him. He held his breath for a slow count of 20, watching for any signs of stirring. Nothing. He drew a careful breath before slowly swinging his leg over Derek as well, feeling a sense of accomplishment as he settled over him, the man still to so much as twitch at Draco's acrobatics.

He could do this. All he had to do was swing first his other leg and then his arm over him, and then -

Draco was on his back, wrists pinned firmly to the bed as his apparently very much awake bed partner loomed over him, and it was only the shock of deep green eyes staring into his resolutely that kept Draco from losing his stomach contents all over his captor.

Potter.

He had slept with Harry fucking Potter and _he couldn't even remember it_.

"Morning, dear, so sorry to wake you," Draco bit out, going for nonchalance but getting bitch instead. "No, seriously, _so_ sorry."

He was rewarded a hearty glare for his efforts.

"What were you _thinking_?!"

Potter's voice was pitched low, but Draco could feel his restraint, the tension in his forearms where he pinned Draco to the bed. He was _pissed_.

Draco nearly rolled his eyes - surely they had found themselves in enough compromising positions for the man to work through any hang-ups about his sexuality by now - but, acutely aware as he was of his position, he wasn't inclined to stoke the flames of ire just then.

Just... poke them enough for Potter to back off for a punch.

Draco laughed softly. "I could ask you the same thing. Honestly, Potter," here he raised an eyebrow, his tone tinged with just enough amusement to be conspiratorial rather than mocking, "a gay club?"

"This isn't a game, Malfoy!" Potter barked, shoving back onto his heels as he ran a hand through his hair before turning his attention back to Draco. "Do you realize what could have happened if I hadn't been walking past just then?!"

Draco did roll his eyes then. "Well, I'm no expert, but -"

Wait.

Oh.

Draco felt the blood running from his face - quite a feat, considering the blush he was harboring earlier - and his fingertips tingled. His entire body felt cold and his ears rang, a muffled cacophony of static and viscous words, and he couldn't tell if they were from this lifetime or another, one where he was weak and _wrong_ , or one where he would be, one where he would be worth nothing more than some stranger decided he would be.

_You little bitch, I tried to be nice, now I’m gonna show you what happens to boys who can't behave -_

"Draco?" The side of his face was warm, and Draco realized belatedly that it was Potter's hand, cupping his jaw, his thumb stroking his cheek softly, as gentle as his voice floating through the hazy noise behind his eyes, calling his name.

He turned his head, focusing on the man next to him - he must have settled there again at some point, facing Draco, watching him, making sure he was fine. Which he was. He was fine. "I'm fine," he said, but his voice sounded croaky, broken, like he hadn't used it in a while, like it struggled to escape the coldness in his chest.

"I know. I know you're fine," Potter replied, and Draco could tell that he meant it.

He turned to face the voice, curling into Potter's warmth as it repeated _you're fine, you're okay,_  and Draco let his forehead rest against Potter's chest, closing his eyes and just listening - _you're fine, you're okay._  Potter's body heat seeped into his clammy skin, a large hand trailing steadily along his back as a chin rested on the top of his head and Draco realized absently that he hadn't felt so secure in a long time.

When Draco opened his eyes again, the voice had stopped but the hand was still stroking his back calmly, and he realized he had no idea how long they had been lying there. The feeling had returned to his limbs, and he flexed his fingers experimentally, only to learn that he had pressed them against Potter's abs at some point in an attempt to anchor himself. He felt his ears burn, clearing his throat lightly as he tried to think of a casual remark to get him out of this with whatever little dignity he had left. Potter must've felt him tense, however, since he moved away easily, giving Draco some space even as he did his best to pretend he didn't miss the warm hand on his back.

"Thank you," he said instead. It was small but earnest, and he meant it, and for once, he didn't mind.

Potter, however, shook his head with a small smile. "You don't have to thank me," he murmured, and his face turned serious. "I'm sorry, I wouldn't have yelled if I'd known you didn't remember..."

Draco raised an eyebrow, watching Potter as the man ran a hand through his hair, his eyes far away and sad.

Was Potter honestly apologizing?

To Draco?

Right now?

After he saved his life?

_What the hell?_

"Don't be absurd, Potter, or I might have to have you admitted for one hell of a hero complex," Draco replied, his tone dry, but the small smile was back and Draco found he was too tired not to smile in return, so he added an eye roll for good measure.

"So what did you think happened last night when you woke up in a strange room half-clothed?" Potter asked, his eyes teasing. Draco felt heat race up the back of his neck, but attempted nonchalance anyway.

"Well, I just figured we -" Draco waved a hand between them ineffectually.

_Smooth, Malfoy._

Potter raised an eyebrow. "You're still wearing pants."

Well at least Draco was now sure the blood flow had returned to his face. "I am _extremely_ hung over," he replied, shoving at Potter's chest and pretending he didn't know the man was humoring him just a tad when he went with it and fell to the floor so Draco could step over him and search for his shirt.

"Didn't seem too bothered at the idea either," Potter continued, and Draco decided that a man should never sound that smug after falling off a bed.

"On second thought, I'm actually still drunk." Draco rounded on Potter then. "Speaking of - where _is_ my shirt?"

Potter stood, obviously trying his best not to meet Draco's eyes.

"I might have figured you wouldn't enjoy sleeping in a shirt covered in blood," he replied eventually.

"Why was my shirt covered in blood?!" Draco asked, raising a hand to check his head for any wounds he might have missed in the morning's excitement. God, he hoped he didn't have to get stitches -

"No, not your blood," Potter replied, stilling Draco's hand with his own, " _Or_ mine," he added quickly, mercifully letting go of Draco's hand to scratch at the back of his neck sheepishly, "I got a bit messy teaching that bastard a lesson outside the club."

He laughed nervously, and Draco rolled his eyes. "Stop fretting, Potter, I'm sure the pervert got what he deserved and nothing more, but that doesn't explain the state of  _my_  clothing."

"Malfoy," Potter started, slowly, raising his eyebrows as he apparently waited for Draco to catch on. Draco crossed his arms, and waited, raising one eyebrow in return.

He could do this all day.

All.

Day.

Urgh.

"Just spit it out, Potter."

"I had to carry you here."

_Oh._

"Okay well I'm going to need a new shirt, then," Draco continued, head held high, _he was not going to crawl into a corner and hide -_

"Harry! What are you doing, mate, we've been waiting for ages - What the fuck?!"

Ron stared at Draco, then at Harry, then at Draco again, mouth gaping like a fish that just discovered water isn't even real and it's actually a panda. He had burst in without warning, obviously on his way somewhere, or from somewhere, expecting to find Potter oversleeping or something to that effect.

Draco smirked. "Why am I not surprised you never learned to knock, Weasel?"

"Malfoy, not now," Harry growled, and Draco did his level best not to pout at the reprimand. Instead, he crossed his arms and sulked internally.

“Harry, how could you, mate?!” Ron had apparently decided that Draco was not worth squabbling with, but made no effort to come any further into the room.

"Ron, calm down, it's not what it looks like -" Potter started.

"Oh this is just making my morning," Draco drawled, getting quite fed up with being ignored.

"Draco, please, now is _not_ the time. Ron, let's talk about this outside -"

"Draco?!" Ron cut in, looking at Potter in disbelief, "He's _Draco_ now?! Harry, you could’ve _killed_ him!"

Oh. Well that was new.

Draco raised an eyebrow as Potter ran his hands through his hair, looking between him and a fuming Weasley until realizing neither would be forthcoming with answers.

"Just what the fuck is he talking about?" he asked, instead.

Potter let out a long breath, wincing as he looked over at Draco and indicated to his own neck with one finger. Draco was about to roll his eyes at Potter's pathetic attempt at charades - _yes I know what it means to kill someone_ \- before he realized what Potter meant. He walked over to the full-length mirror on the far wall, catching sight of the yellowing finger-shaped bruises around his neck. He poked at one absently, not sure whether to cry at the pain or the fact that some pervert managed to mar one of his best assets like that.

"Good God, that is pretty gory," he murmured more to himself than anyone else.

"Does he think this is funny?!" Ron yelled at Potter instead.

"Seriously, Weasel, I'm _right here_."

“Ronald? What’s all this yell-” and then Hermione Granger stepped into the room.

_Well now it's a party._

Hermione's eyes went wide as she surveyed the room, catching sight of Draco standing in front of the mirror still prodding at his injuries. "Oh my God, Draco, are you alright?" she exclaimed, one hand fluttering to her mouth.

"I'm _fine_ , Granger, honestly," Draco sighed.

Potter narrowed his eyes at the redhead. "Hermione, why do you know Malfoy?"

"What, a girl can't have friends outside of your little club?" Draco quipped, feeling a smug spark of vindication as Ron _finally_ turned his glare on him.

"Malfoy, you need to leave, this has got nothing to do with you," Ron growled, and Draco crossed his arms stubbornly in reply.

"Ron, stop it!" Hermione cut in. "I’m sorry, I know I have a lot of explaining to do, to all of you, but we can't keep doing this." She turned to Potter slowly. "Harry, you need to know... Draco - he’s like us -"

 _Wolves_.

"Don’t." Draco's voice was low and dangerous as stepped forward threateningly, but his heart was beating in his throat. "Don’t you dare pretend to know a damn thing about me, Granger," he hissed.

"Back up, Malfoy," Ron growled, stepping between Draco and Hermione, and Draco would recognize a man spoiling for a fight a mile away, but suddenly Potter was standing between him and the angry ginger and Ron backed off.

When Potter spoke, his voice commanded attention. "Hermione, explain."

"I'm sorry, Harry, I know this seems rather out of the blue but we all need to take a step back-"

"Hermione!" Potter's voice was firm, but his eyes were violent as they pinned Draco to the floor. "Why can’t I smell it?!"

Hermione made a sound in the back of her throat that sounded like she really knew she should be quiet but it caused her physical pain.

“Harry… he’s on suppressants.”

Something in Potter’s eyes darkened at that, and Draco felt the floor fall out from under his feet. He was done. Only Omega took suppressants - Alpha and Beta had less rigorous methods of hiding their scent that didn’t involve blocking hormones.

_You little bitch, I tried to be nice, now I’m gonna show you what happens to boys who can't behave -_

Potter advanced on him quickly, and Draco could see his muscles straining with tension as he cornered him, shirtless and quietly furious. When he spoke, it was more a rumble along Draco’s nerve endings than a sound to his ears.

“I am the Alpha of this pack and you will tell me why you are in our territory concealing your scent.”

Draco could feel his heartbeat in his throat and he was certain Potter sensed it too, the way his eyes flickered to his pulse before stepping impossibly closer, impossibly more imposing as he sent that deep, primal sound rattling through Draco’s bones.

"Tell me!" he barked, and Draco thought he saw a spark of hurt in his furious green eyes.

“I didn’t know there were others!”

Draco didn’t recognize his own voice until he realized Potter hadn’t turned to look at whoever spoke behind him. He also instantly realized how stupid it was to tell the truth. _Didn't know there were others_. No Alpha worth his salt would believe that - not without an explanation.

Potter watched him a long moment, his jaw set and his gaze piercing. Hermione started to speak, a soft _Harry_ but he barely turned his head in answer, baring his teeth in warning before she could finish coming to Draco's defense.

Oh God. He was dead.

"Get dressed. We're going to talk," Potter growled, grabbing a shirt slung over a nearby chair and throwing it at him.

Draco watched him stalk out his room, all straining muscles and barely contained testosterone, before releasing the lungful of air he'd been holding.

They were going to talk.

 _Fan-fucking-tastic_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I guess the cat's out of the bag now, folks!
> 
> I mean, for Draco and Harry, in any case (and Ron as innocent bystander, poor thing) You guys had tags. There's no excuse. I had fretted over whether or not to include this in the tags to begin with, 'cause it's revealed so late in the story and is kind of a "surprise" (but also not really, the signs are all there) but I realize some people are squicked by A/B/O. Don't know how. I could read it aaaall day, son.
> 
> If you're wondering how Draco was narrator but he never even mentioned being a wolf in his inner ramblings, all will be explained. I didn't just make this up now, lol. Promise XD
> 
> Also, sorry if anyone's feeling like Draco's snark is gone. But, y'know. He's not in the mood for snark most of the time right now. I just write what the boys do, I can't force them into anything. Give him time :)


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUESS WHO'S NOT DEAD! This chapter is unofficially dedicated to loveglowsinthedark 'cause I told em I was going to update about 20-something days ago. And then I didn't. So I feel bad. (Sorry.)
> 
> On a different note, a couple comments suggested people actually DIDN'T realize this was an A/B/O werewolf fic... which is both like yay! 'cause I got to do my surprise properly but also confusing 'cause, y'know, tags guys. They're there. They don't lie.
> 
> In this vein, however, you might find I'm a bit more explicit in my explaining of the universe (and how they didn't know about one another) this chapter. If anything seems obvious to you 'cause you're a die-hard fan of A/B/O (like me), sorry, but I don't wanna leave anyone behind, and also my universe might be a bit different to the wolf-verse you're used to. I really thought this thing through. A lot. I swear.

* * *

Potter’s kitchen was decent but bare. All stylishly treated wood and granite countertops and steel appliances that look like they hadn’t been used more than maybe twice in their entire life. Draco would’ve written the lack of cookbooks or shopping lists off on the internet age, but watching the man lean against a spotless counter wearing nothing but his jeans and a stormy frown - with the recollection of the state of his bedroom, which was very much lived in - Draco got the feeling Potter wasn’t much of a cook.

The quintessential bachelor, living off fast food and still looking fabulous.

“For God’s sake, Potter, put on a shirt.”

Potter growled low in his chest, uncrossing his arms and pushing off the counter to stalk forward until Draco was forced to sit on the kitchen table behind him to avoid Potter’s looming form. It put him (another) couple inches shorter than the other man, and if the power play weren’t so textbook, Draco might’ve been annoyed.

He crossed his arms and glared instead.

The short walk between bedroom and kitchen had bolstered Draco’s spirits again. Without the raging Alpha yelling in his face and sending his  _blasted_  instincts spinning, he’d had a chance to think the situation over, and figured he had a shot at this. While wolves were still very much driven by their baser urges - Draco’s lip curled at the thought - it was hardly the 17th century. There were laws, rules that governed the packs and appropriate punishment waiting to be dished out.

Fine, maybe Draco had broken one or two of those laws himself, but Potter was hardly going to rip his throat out for it.

Not in front of Hermione, anyway.

_Right?_

“Start talking, Malfoy,” Potter growled.

“Well, I’m Draco Malfoy,” he started in a bored drawl, “and I’m a Sagittarius. I like long walks off short piers -”

“And you’re a fucking wolf, apparently, so you better drop the sarcasm and get to explaining or I’m going to be perfectly within my rights to make you.”

Draco swallowed.

“ _Fine,_ ” he replied, steadfastly ignoring how dry his voice sounded, “I’m Draco Malfoy and I’m a seven-millionth generation pureblood werewolf or some shit. You’ll have to ask my father, he’s the fanatic.”

“Why are you on suppressants?”

Draco snorted. “Because they  _suppress_. My scent, the heats - I get to live a normal fucking life, okay? Last time I checked, you can’t defer finals on the basis of wanting to fuck everyone’s brains out,” he spat, his tone more bitter than he would’ve liked just then.

“That’s what temporary supps are for - you’re on permanent ones,” Potter replied.

“I have a busy schedule,” Draco ground out.

Potter was watching him, frowning, and Draco was finding it increasingly difficult to read him. It itched under his skin and he shifted uncomfortably, saved from the disadvantage of being the first to break eye contact by a crop of red hair stepping between them. Ron had one hand on his friend’s shoulder and one suspicious eye on Draco as he spoke.

“Mate, I don’t know if I buy this,” he whispered about as covertly as a stampeding horde of buffalo, “Sure, suppressants would explain the lack of scent but he’s not healing. Supps don’t  _do_  that.”

Draco rolled his eyes.  _In the room, Weasel, God._  “I  _am_  healing, just not at a breakneck pace, Wolverine.”

“What?” Ron rounded on him, looking confused and hilariously offended. “That doesn’t even make sense, Wolverine wasn’t a werewolf!”

“Ronald! Focus!” Hermione snapped from her vantage point in the far corner, glaring at Ron as Draco grinned.

And then stopped.

‘Cause glaring Alpha and all that.

“ _Explain,_  Malfoy.”

“There’s nothing to explain! Supps  _do_  do that,” Draco snapped, arms crossed in a way that said  _not my fault you don’t know that, God_.

Potter looked over at Hermione, where she was watching Draco with a small, hesitant frown. “Well - Yes, some,” she said, then looked like she wasn’t sure whether to continue or not. “Nothing sanctioned by a reputable health organization, however.”

“Maybe we have different ideas on what constitutes reputable, Granger,” Draco replied lightly, but the deepening of her frown made him slightly nervous, like she took personal offence to that and he was going to pay in a manner he didn’t like.

“Alright, so I can’t scent you because you’re drugging yourself up til kingdom come -” Potter summarized, running a hand through his hair but squaring his shoulders in the next breath. Draco felt tired looking at him. “Doesn’t explain how you didn’t know about us.”

Potter’s gaze refused to waver, and Draco looked away.  _Dammit._  He shifted slightly, leaning back on his hands as he studied the kitchen cabinets behind Potter’s head.

“The meds suppress my ability to scent other wolves. I still have a slightly heightened sense of smell,” he explained carefully, “but the cigarettes take care of it.”

“Seriously?!” Another Weasley outburst. “You expect us to believe you’ve basically turned yourself fucking human for no reason whatsoever?!”

“Frankly, Ronald, I couldn’t give a damn  _what_  you believed about me,” Draco threw back.

“Enough.”

Draco had always hated how the tone of an Alpha could quiet a room without so much as an additional decibel, how it ran ice through his veins and made the voice in the back of his head whisper  _run_ , but he hated Potter’s voice even more.

Because Potter's voice made him shiver, sparked through him right down to his bones and made him want to disobey just to see what he'd do to put Draco in his place.

Always had.

_How had you missed this, you idiot?!_

“So you're just living a normal life, huh.”

It wasn't really a question, but Draco felt the need to shrug like  _yeah, that's what I said, well done detective_  anyway. Then Potter tilted his head in a way that made Draco's blood warm.

“By whose standards?”

“By my own, alright!” Draco grit out. Potter's voice was too soft, too quizzical, like he was trying to  _understand_  - “No! You don’t get to do this - I'm perfectly within my rights to take whatever suppressants I please, and I will not sit in a room with an Alpha and his fucking entitled Betas and be told that -”

“Hey!” Ron burst out, stepping forward threateningly, “Don’t you come in here and -”

Draco snarled. “I didn’t  _come in here,_  you bloody imbecile -”

“You’re on my land, Malfoy, watch your step,” Potter growled, and Draco stood despite the fact that he _was_ , because he had had just about enough of intimidating Alphas and their mind games and their _abs_.

“Again, Potter,  _not_  my fault -”

“Draco, Harry's territory runs from the Longbottom estate to about seven miles east of the town border.” Hermione cut in swiftly. “That includes the university and, unless you're commuting two hours a day, your home. You’re free to take whatever questionable medication you like, but you had an obligation to report your presence and status to Harry the moment you moved onto his land.”

Draco paused, his mind racing. He had been out of the loop for a couple years, sure, but this was big - for someone so young to have claim to that much territory was unusual. Even if Potter had inherited it, he wouldn’t go unchallenged, no - he had _earned_ his place.

It scared Draco as much as it excited him.

“As far as I knew this land was unclaimed,” he shot back, instead, “And you have nothing to prove otherwise.”

“We don’t need proof, blimey, _everyone_ knows that Harry’s Alpha in these parts,” Ron burst out, “And honestly it’s just good sense to know your neighbors!”

“Oh? Is it?” Draco sneered, “So you explain your surprise at uncovering a wolf named Malfoy _how_? My father’s land has been in the family for as long as there have been wolves.”

 Potter was frowning now, and Draco fought down the strange urge to laugh hysterically at his lack of an answer. He suspected he was strung a tad tighter than was strictly sane.

“So? How did none of you know?” Draco asked again, his tone mocking.

_Suck it, Potter._

“I knew.”

Everyone turned as one to Hermione where she stood in the corner of the room, tall and unflappable.

“Oh, you can stop looking at me like that now, it’s my  _job_  to know,” Hermione snapped, “The land has always belonged to the Malfoys, you really don’t need to snoop very far to find out that much. As far as anyone was aware, though, the Malfoys have been residing comfortably in France for the last decade or so, thus my not mentioning it,” she explained evenly.

“And when you discovered that this wasn’t the case - at least not for the youngest Malfoy?” Potter asked, far too calmly as far as Draco was concerned.

“I decided to investigate,” Hermione replied squarely, “He wasn’t causing any trouble - in fact, he was doing the exact opposite of causing trouble anywhere other than where he and your little spats were involved, so I decided to scope him out for myself.”

“Hermione,” Ron, sounding equal parts angry and worried, “Blimey, that’s  _dangerous_ , you should’ve  _told_  one of us, at least.”

“I am not a glass ornament, Ronald, I am just as capable as either of you of assessing a threat,” Hermione replied sternly, and Draco was reminded again why he liked having her around. “Honestly, I was intending to just keep an eye on him from afar but then you were in such a foul mood that one day," she directed this at Potter, "and when I eventually tracked him down, he practically _reeked_ of you, which none of you realized since you were probably avoiding him and it was just so _irresponsible,_ Harry -"

She cut herself off, realizing belatedly that she was chewing her pack Alpha out in front of a possible intruder, but her expression communicated how not sorry she was. Draco would've been amused were he not completely mortified - he smelled like Potter?! They'd barely even - he felt heat run up the back of his neck and shoved the thought into the overflowing IGNORE box in his brain.

"Draco is  _not_  a threat,” Hermione stated firmly, finally. She turned on him then, and caught him in a level gaze. “What he  _is_ , is in trouble.”

“The looming Alpha your first clue, Granger?” he snapped.

“Your suppressants are dangerous, Draco, and you know it.”

“They do the job,” Draco growled in return.

“And what exactly  _is_  the job, Malfoy?”

Draco fought the urge to roll his eyes. “Good Lord, Potter, you know what Albert Einstein said about the definition of insanity, right?”

“If I expect different results, Malfoy, it’s because I know you’re not telling me the whole truth here,” Potter growled in response, and Draco couldn’t find a snappy comeback to that if he tried. “You’re on black market drugs, your extremist parents are secretly holed away in their bloody estate -”

“Don’t you  _dare_  talk about my mother like that!” Draco was standing before he realized it, his words hanging in the air as if suspended by the tension, and he clenched his fists as Potter's expression shifted all at once. When he spoke, his voice was quiet, and Draco's chest felt tight.

“Draco. If you want me to believe you weren’t hiding on purpose, and that I don’t have just cause to do everything to protect my pack from you right now," Potter spoke, "You need to tell me the truth.”

The truth.

When was the last time he’d even tried to tell the truth to anyone?

“I was aware that my parents were laying low,” he started, instead, picking his words carefully, because at least they weren't a lie, “My father had formed an alliance with a neighboring Alpha when I was a child. The Alpha was under the impression that humans posed a threat to wolves; that living in hiding was cowardly and would only lead to the downfall of wolf civilization. He proved a tad…” Draco waved one hand dismissively, “Insane.”

He glanced over at the trio, having wandered slightly as he spoke. They were impassive, not even Potter’s small frown giving anything away. How much did they know?

“It was quite an affair, really," he continued breezily, "After his fall - by the hands of a young new up-and-comer by the name Evans, I’m told - my father thought it prudent to keep us under wraps until the whole mess blew over, and we could be reintroduced into the wolf community without… prejudice.”

Draco eyed Potter as he spoke, curious. The Alpha was uncharacteristically quiet about it all, not asking questions or interrupting, and Draco really had no idea what to make of his behaviour.

_What do they know?_

“I wasn’t lying,” he said finally, “Earlier, about my suppressants. My father might’ve seen it wise to conceal my nature for political reasons, but I’m not -”

_Unhappy?_

“I’m not complaining about the convenience,” Draco finished.

“How long has it been?” Potter asked, finally.

Draco waved one hand vaguely. “A couple years, I’m hardly marking it off on my calendar.”

“It’s been _years_? And you don’t question it, now? Your father’s motivations?” Potter quirked an eyebrow incredulously, and Draco felt his skin itch.

“My Alpha ordered it. I obeyed.”

Potter tilted his head to the side, assessing. “You’re lying.”

“ _Prove it_ ,” Draco snarled back.

“Harry -” Hermione’s voice cut through the tension like a knife, "It's been a long morning."

Draco felt her gaze flicker between him and Potter anxiously. The silence stretched tight between them, and for a moment Draco thought the Alpha would never relent, but then Potter stepped back and Draco remembered how to breathe.

"This is hardly over," Potter warned.

"Ta," Draco breathed, turning on his heel towards the bedroom, "I'll just get my things -"

Potter's hand was suddenly firm on his bicep, the fact that a grip so far from painful was capable of stopping him in his tracks really grating at Draco's nerves.

“You’re not going anywhere," Potter stated calmly, and Draco could do little more than gape at the implication.

_You can't possibly mean -_

“Draco, you’ve got three options,” Potter spoke, matter-of-factly, his gaze refusing to let Draco go, “Either you stay within spitting distance of me at all times, you move back in with your father, or you go back to your normal life but you stop taking those damn pills.”

Green eyes bore into his, his expression open and plain.

_Choose,_ it said.

“You’re taking the couch,” Draco found himself saying, and dimly wondered when Potter had become his safest option.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...That was draining.
> 
> Hopefully everything makes a bit more sense now, like how Harry's not a TOTAL idiot, and realizes that he's the one that carried Draco into his bedroom but his territory's a bit bigger than that. Phew. If anything's still confusing, I'll happily reply to comments (I didn't wanna do that with the last chapter 'cause spoilers)


	13. PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT (AGAIN)

OMG IT'S BEEN 5 MONTHS SINCE MY RANT I'M SO SORRY *CRIES*

I'm also so sorry to update this and possibly get anyone excited it's an update when it's just a promise of an update but I've received so many lovely messages lately and I just wanted to let everyone know I READ EVERY SINGLE ONE OF THEM AND SMILE. And then usually write a little before life kicks me in the head again.

It sounds like a lame excuse but this year has been REALLY busy so far - in a good way, both academically (which, for me, is future career-wise) and home-wise. So I'm not complaining, but it does mean I haven't had an extended period of time to just GET THE NEXT CHAPTER DONE. Most of the rest of the chapters are at least halfway written, so I don't want anyone fretting that I've abandoned this fic, 'cause I haven't! I swear! It'd be right there on my desktop if I didn't want my supervisor asking what it was every time I opened my laptop!

I've also joined a couple new fandoms in my downtime a.k.a. my-brain-no-longer-works-time (mostly K-Pop related, despite my promises to myself that I would NEVER ship real people - they're too beautiful, I can't help it) and the FRUSTRATING LACK OF ABO IN THEM FANDOMS HAS REMINDED ME HOW MUCH OF A BITCH I AM TO NOT FINISH THIS SOON.

I have a real thing for ABO guys. You might have noticed.

So anyway, in conclusion, I adore you all, thank you for still being here, and I hope to have an update to you within the next month. I'm making it my personal mission. You're the best.

All my love,

PsychoTheCupcake


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll just leave this here.
> 
> ...OMG JUST KIDDING!!
> 
> I considered deleting my last PSA and adding this as the official chapter 13 but then I'd lose all of your super encouraging comments, which I really didn't want to do, so I've added another chapter to the overall count but y'know why now. Like, I know first hand what it's like to read and fall in love with a story that hasn't been updated in months and start to lose hope so I'd just like to say THANK YOU to everyone who kept leaving me lovely comments 'cause every single one contributed to this being updated again.
> 
> Believe it or not I rewrote this chapter like 3 times and thought about it for a looooong time 'cause this is probably the most difficult stage of their relationship to capture, but I hope it does it justice. It's like 2:30 am though so sorry for any typos or if it's weird. Idk.
> 
> SORT OF EDIT: Yeah I changed the official name I'm writing under. I considered just changing my username but thought that might be confusing, but I had wanted to change my pseud to something I hadn't made up when I was like 12 for a while now. No offense to 12-year-olds. Also don't read this if you're 12, yikes. Part of the reason is 'cause I was (sharply) prompted to set up my drarry/fanfic/writer tumblr properly. Which I did. It's called [aidaninkling.tumblr.com](https://aidaninkling.tumblr.com/). This is possibly obvious. Either way please come talk to me :D

* * *

 

Draco sat perched on the end of the couch, hands in his lap. The apartment was deathly quiet, not even the ticking of a wall clock to fill the empty rooms with life, save for the muffled sound of running water two doors down.

_You live here now._

Draco sucked in a deep breath, exhaling through his nose deliberately as he clutched the leather on either side of his knees to anchor himself. _Shut up_ , he thought, which was ironic considering the voice telling him how fucked he was, was also the one telling itself to quit it, but Draco would have to appreciate it later.

Right now he was trying to figure out _what the fuck to do_.

Honestly, the morning had turned out completely uneventful after the blow out with the Potter pack. Hermione and Weasley had said their goodbyes after more furious whispering and warning glances from Hermione than were strictly necessary, and then Draco and Harry were left to stare at each other from opposite sides of the living room for a tense while before the other man uncrossed his arms and disappeared into his room without a word.

Draco heard the shower start up, and sat down abruptly.

Cue current near-panic attack.

It was always uncomfortable being in another person’s space, that itching urge to walk on eggshells around things that didn’t belong to you or spaces that worked in ways you didn’t understand, but there were rules to make one’s course of action clearer. _Etiquette_. Guests were to respond to hosts as appropriate and even if everyone hated it and one another _they wouldn’t be punished for their lack of class later_.

Potter had no idea of _etiquette_ , and Draco had no idea what to _do_. The water shut off, and Draco’s scalp prickled. It just wasn’t _right_ , to leave someone like this, a _guest_ , no matter how unexpected. How was he supposed to respond to this, deal with the fact that he had no idea when he would see his own flat again, however small and shoddy it may seem in comparison to all the leather and glass and chrome in this place, deal with the fact that they _knew_ and he’d have to _explain_ and _admit_ that –

Draco stood, then, abruptly.

_He was going to make himself a motherfucking cup of tea._

Draco flicked the switch on the electric kettle, fighting the urge to hum out loud to add to the rumble of the bubbling water. The kitchen was no different to this morning, still way too clean to be considered lived in, but the sunlight streaming in through the gigantic window made the whole place seem so much emptier. _Lonelier_ , without a handful of young adult werewolves crowded around to figure out the mystery of the one who hides.

Steadfastly ignoring his shaking fingers, Draco looked through the cupboards over the coffee station, in search of a teacup. The crockery was all nondescript porcelain in shades of grey, but nestled amongst the stark white cups was a set of three delicate teacups. They were a faded cream with intricate purple designs hand-painted around the rims. Carefully, Draco picked one from the bunch and held it gently between his fingertips.

It was pretty, even faded with time. Draco knew fine china, and this certainly wasn’t expensive or even branded, yet it felt precious. It was thin, delicate, yet it had been cared for. Perfect. Flawless.

Draco jumped as the front door slammed, suddenly, and the teacup slipped between his fingers like silk, shattering as it hit the tiles.

It felt like whole minutes passed before Draco’s eyes could focus on the porcelain at his feet. The cup was in three neat pieces; the base, the handle and a shard from the side that hit the ground. Draco crouched slowly, picking up the pieces with soft fingertips before laying them carefully on the kitchen counter. He toed over to the adjacent pantry, grabbing a hand-broom and dustpan to sweep up any errant splinters. That done, he rifled through the drawers before he found a tube of superglue. Bending over the kitchen counter, Draco pieced the teacup back together, nearly sticking his own fingers first to the cup then to each other. Finally, it stood whole on the counter once again, perfect save for the hairline cracks that no amount of glue would ever erase.

It was broken, once, and no one could fix it now.

A sound tore from his throat, something like a sob but broken and angry, and Draco grabbed one of the nondescript white mugs from the still-open cupboard and hurled it at the bare kitchen floor. It shattered with a clash that rang in his ears, porcelain scattering across the tiles, so Draco grabbed another and another and watched their pieces skitter across the floor like something living.

Carefully picking up the teacup still perched on the counter like the lone witness to his slowly unravelling sanity, Draco skirted around the worst of the stark porcelain shards and made his way to the bedroom. He shouldn’t – he knew he shouldn’t, it’s not his place, not _his place_ – but the sunshine streaming through the rest of the apartment was making his chest feel too small for his lungs. The bedroom was easy to shut off, the curtains allowing through only the same smattering of light as the last time he’d been in the room, and with the door shut it felt like he was boxing in the panic, his breath slowing to a deep inhale/exhale/repeat that smelled like Potter’s cologne but nothing else in particular.

_Yet_.

Potter’s room was still a mess, and when trembling fingers finally set down the teacup on the bedside table, it was on a stack of books. Draco crawled into the bed, tucking the pillow into the crook of his neck and feeling his muscles relax as he focused on his breathing, staring aimlessly at the teacup in the soft light.

_In._

_Out._

_Repeat._

Were it not for the too-long sleeves of his shirt and the completely alien silence of being in an apartment five stories higher than his own with walls made of something other than paper, he might’ve believed he was at home, cuddling back into bed after grabbing some water to wash down a dream with more detail than any dream deserved to have.

But he wasn’t at home.

Draco pulled the covers over his head, and cried.

* * *

 

When Draco woke, his eyelids felt heavy and there was a pounding behind his left eye that he recognized as the universe’s pleasant reminder of a good cry. Cracking one eye open, he wondered when he’d fallen asleep – he certainly hadn’t meant to, yet the light filtering through the curtains was decidedly subdued, stemming now from streetlights and passing cars. Scanning the indistinct shapes scattered around the room quietly, he caught sight of the teacup perched on the pile of books, feeling a heavy sadness start to settle in his belly before his eyes adjusted and he realized –

It wasn’t the same teacup.

Feeling his heart beat in his throat, Draco pushed himself up on one outstretched arm, eyeing the cup cautiously. This teacup was from the same set as the one he’d left there, but it was missing the cracks and tiny chip along the rim. This one was whole, and it wasn’t empty. A quick sniff revealed the hot liquid to be tea, as he suspected, and although it was no longer giving off steam and Draco could hold the cup quite comfortably, it wasn’t cold enough to be unpalatable. It had been brewed recently.

Brewed recently and left there. For him.

Draco found Potter in the sitting room, on the couch with this back to the hallway and his elbows on his knees as he cradled the cracked teacup between his fingers. Draco stood in the doorway, watching, feeling the weight of the cup of tea in his hands and wondering how to say _hey thanks I think but also what the fuck_. He shifted and a floorboard creaked, Draco starting and staring wide-eyed at Potter, who was turning to face him now, as adrenaline warred with bone-deep exhaustion.

“Oh – I’m sorry, I didn’t realize…” Potter murmured, trailing off aimlessly in a manner that was so un-Potter-like that the apology made Draco feel more on-edge than the man yelling at him for being in his doorway and in his house and in his room and in his bed would have.

Draco nodded, once, terse, as Potter placed the teacup he was holding carefully on the coffee table in front of him. Potter’s hair was mussed, the sleeves of his white shirt pushed up to the elbows, and Draco wondered whether he looked that tired too.

“Hermione – she’s coming over tomorrow,” Potter spoke, almost as if to fill the empty space with words, and Draco wanted to retort to ease the tension in his skin, cut back that _it wasn’t really fucking up to him was it_ and Potter could get fucked if he thought Draco was looking forward to seeing the redhead anyway but his tongue felt glued to the roof of his mouth instead as his gaze dropped and he stared aimlessly at the shimmering surface of his cup of tea.

He felt more than heard Potter move, standing from the couch to pad over to where Draco was standing, and Draco could make out the bottoms of his jeans and his bare feet as he came to a stop before him. Draco suddenly felt underdressed, even though he was arguably more covered, and he felt his fingertips grasp anxiously at the shirt sleeves hanging halfway over his hands before he heard a soft sound, caught somewhere between surprised and injured, and he whipped his gaze upwards automatically to catch Potter leaning against the wall of the narrow hallway heavily.

“What…” Draco murmured, not sure what he was asking.

“You…” Potter started quietly, pausing as he shoved one hand in his jeans pocket, “The clothes. I know you can’t tell but,” Potter murmured, gesturing slightly with his free hand, “they smell like me.”

_You smell like me._

“You have chocolate on your shirt,” Draco replied quietly but evenly, as if they were exchanging anecdotes about their outfits, “It’ll stain.”

Potter made a surprised sound and glanced down almost as if he forgot he wore a shirt at all.

“Oh, yeah, I went for ice cream with Ginny today,” he muttered absently, like it wasn’t a big deal, like one would recount a chance encounter with a particularly colourful butterfly on the walk home.

It wasn’t a big deal.

“Oh,” Draco responded, because _it wasn’t a big deal_ , and stepped around Potter quickly, making his way to the kitchen briskly only to stop in his tracks immediately upon entry.

The kitchen floor was clean, the carnage from earlier in the day swept away like it never happened, and Draco put down his tea on the counter heavily as he tried to wrap his head around what was happening and what Potter was doing and why he hadn’t even _mentioned_ that Draco had wrecked his kitchen before crying himself to sleep in his bed.

“ _Stop_ ,” he whispered, but Potter never listened. Potter followed him, of course, because Potter never did what Draco wanted, he just _did_.

“Ginny and I, we’re not…” Potter began, pausing in the doorway behind Draco, as if searching for the right word, and eloquent as ever, settling on: “We’re not a _thing_.”

“We’re not a thing either, Potter,” Draco murmured, swallowing hard, because they weren’t whatever a thing was.

“Harry.”

“What?” Draco turned from the clean floor to stare at Potter, confused.

“Call me Harry,” he repeated, like they had just met in a bar or the party of a mutual friend.

“Harry–” Draco started, almost incredulously, but then felt the name on his tongue, the familiarity of it, the way it said everything about how a wall they didn’t even know was there had fallen away in the space of a day, and it made his words less scathing even as he tried to get distance. “You’re not supposed to…”

“I’m not supposed to what?” Harry asked quietly.

“You’re supposed to be angry with me,” Draco shot back, receiving only the same halfway confused halfway hurt noise from earlier and feeling his hackles raise.

“ _I’m_ angry with _you_ ,” Draco continued, his voice just loud enough now to not be considered civil anymore even as he felt his throat constrict.

“I’m sorry,” Harry said simply, and Draco felt his resolve snap.

“No! You don’t get to be _sorry_!” Draco yelled, gritting his teeth, “I’m angry, and _you’re_ angry – it’s the reason I’m here, isn’t it?! Because I’m dangerous?!”

“Yes,” Harry breathed, but he looked about as convinced as Draco felt, so Draco placed both hands on Harry’s chest and shoved him as hard as he could, which only sent him reeling back considering their size difference and general athleticism.

“Then fucking– FUCK!” Draco hissed as he lifted his left foot quickly only to see droplets of red fall onto the lone shard of porcelain he’d failed to spot against the equally white kitchen tiles.

“Shit–” this was Harry, which was really funny considering Draco was the one bleeding all over the place, thank you very much, but he’d barely opened his mouth to cut back before Harry was lifting him onto the counter, his stomach swooping at the sudden rise and stop. Draco wasn’t sure if it was that or the pain suddenly starting to register, but he felt like he might throw up for a moment, his head rush subsiding just in time to witness Harry freak the fuck out.

“Oh my God, that’s so much blood,” he muttered, clutching a handful of paper towels as he hovered, and Draco rolled his eyes with what blood he had left in his head.

“Dear Lord, just–” Draco snapped, grabbing a paper towel from him and pressing it to the cut, staunching the blood flow and easing the pain slightly. “Feet bleed a lot, how don’t you know this?”

“How _do_ you know this?” Harry shot back, and Draco snorted, because _duh_ , but then suddenly he couldn’t stop laughing and Harry was looking _much_ too alarmed at this and it just made him crack up all over again.

“What the fuck– Draco, what the–”

“Say what the fuck one more time,” Draco giggled, and Harry huffed out an incredulous laugh at that, before his lips quirked involuntarily and suddenly he was laughing too, kind of breathy at first but then hard enough for him to lean over the counter next to Draco and press his forehead against the cool granite in an attempt to anchor himself.

“What the fuck,” he muttered eventually as they caught their breath, laughter dying into steady inhale/exhale/repeat.

“I don’t know,” Draco replied eventually, his head lolling back against the cupboards behind him, “I honestly don’t know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have a drink every time I used the word teacup in this chapter.
> 
> Urgh, I want to rattle on for ages about this, but I won't. Let me know what you guys think - I know it's probably a bit weird, but I find emotional rollercoasters tend to be a bit weird. This is the turning point. We can only stabilize from here. That's what I was trying to get at.
> 
> Sorry if anything was a bit fast. I might go back and edit at a more reasonable hour.
> 
> Also sorry if you didn't get the significance of Harry making Draco a cup of tea. Like, in my house a cup of tea is the ultimate sign of affection. I make you a cup of tea and YOU BEST KNOW I LOVE YOU BITCH. I feel Draco gets that. Idk.
> 
> Love you guys <3


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, well, well, look what the cat dragged in.
> 
> Me. I'm what the cat dragged in. Literally. An absolute mess.
> 
> I'm so happy to have something to post for you guys!! It's been, like, half a year, I know, so if you're still around I think we can officially call this a cult now for the level of commitment you're at. I feel like I have to say this every A/N, but this story is not, has never been, and will never be abandoned. Ever. If it takes me another two years, it does, but by god this thing will be finished.
> 
> Sorry, that wasn't very inspirational. I promise it won't take another two years. *cries*
> 
> Anyway, let's get on with this shit show.

* * *

 

There were still droplets of red on the kitchen floor the next morning, when Draco woke up far earlier than necessary and crept down the hallway, doing his best to avoid the creaky floorboard in the doorway. Harry had taken the couch, in the end, much to Draco’s ~~disappointment~~ surprise, and Draco had managed to rummage (unsuccessfully) through the alpha’s cupboard for clothing he wouldn’t positively drown in and get showered and changed without waking the other man.

Seeing himself in the bathroom mirror that morning had been strange, and if he stared at his reflection for longer than normal, trying to figure out why he didn’t quite recognize the person staring back at him, he was committed to not thinking too hard about it.

The purplish yellowish marks around his neck were fading to a dull reminder now, but he opted for a poloneck jersey anyway, the hem falling past his butt, making him feel slightly better about having to put on his skin-tight leather trousers again ( _God_ they were inappropriate). Harry didn’t own anything resembling hair products, so the best Draco could do was brush his hair with his fingers and try not to roll his eyes at how much he looked like a hipster girl trying to get Instagram famous.

He’d even managed to get the kitchen floor cleaned up – _properly_ , this time – and the kettle on before he heard the shuffle of bare feet on wooden floors and looked over to see Harry leaning in the doorway _shirtless of course I mean why would anyone ever wear a shirt if they had a body like that_ -

Draco cleared his throat and turned back to the kettle. “Morning. Tea?”

“I’m more of a coffee man myself,” Harry replied, and Draco could _hear_ him smiling, and his ears were _not_ hot _thankyouverymuch_.

“Philistine,” he muttered, pulling another mug from the seriously diminished stash in the cupboard overhead, “You’re getting instant, then,” Draco added, looking over at Harry pointedly as the other man chuckled and threw his hands up in surrender.

“Let it never be said that Harry Potter argued with a man holding a teaspoon,” he said, and Draco felt the corners of his mouth twitch before he realized _oh God this is actually_ nice.

They were clearly both _insane_ , but it was _nice_.

Draco turned back to the task at hand, brewing their drinks efficiently. He had just finished stirring Harry’s coffee, the aforementioned teaspoon held in mid-air as he contemplated the merits of dirtying a new spoon as opposed to cross-contaminating his tea with a lesser source of caffeine, when he felt the other man’s presence at his back. Draco tensed instantly, distracted as he was, holding his breath in hopes that Harry wouldn’t notice he’d nearly jumped out his skin, but Harry merely chuckled as he reached around Draco for his coffee, muttering a quiet _why thank you_ into the skin just under Draco’s ear.

Draco exhaled all at once, and he felt his ears heat up.

“You– I–” Oh God, now he was _stuttering_.

“ _Yes_ , Draco?” Harry murmured, in that voice that _sounded_ like a smile, and Draco really didn’t have an answer to that – what was he even going to protest about again? He could feel Harry behind him, not quite touching, and there was a coil in Draco’s gut at the knowledge that Harry wasn’t even fully dressed. If he just leaned back, ever so slightly – it wasn’t even a full step and Draco would be able to feel the alpha pressed against him. His breath hitched at the thought, and he swore Harry was pulling the air tight between them as he suddenly growled low in his chest, sucking in a deep breath where his nose was nearly pressed into Draco’s neck –

Draco dropped the spoon immediately, the sharp sound of metal hitting stone piercing the room as dread flooded his veins.

_Oh fuck._

Harry jerked back as if burnt, spilling coffee over the sides of the mug he still held in his right hand in the process. Draco twisted from the bracket of his arms quickly, narrowly missing getting some coffee on his own person.

“Oh – shit, I’m sorry, I – just –” Draco stammered, turning to rummage through a couple drawers before stumbling across a dishtowel he was pretty sure had never actually been used before. He rushed over to Harry, pressing the cloth against the hand that had been holding the now abandoned cup quickly.

“Are you okay? Are you burnt?” Draco was rambling, he knew he was, but he tried not to notice how his own hands trembled as they held Harry’s.

“No – No, Draco, I’m alright, really,” Harry responded in a low tone – some distant part of Draco’s mind was offended that the man was trying to calm _him_ down, while the rest panicked quite fervently.

“Are you sure?” Draco asked, dropping the dishtowel to inspect the skin of Harry’s hand still cradled in his own. “It was hot, and –”

“Draco. Hey,” Harry said, firmly, his left hand covering Draco’s suddenly. Draco looked up involuntarily, meeting soft green eyes, tinged with something that made his chest ache. “It’s okay. I’m sorry.”

Draco opened his mouth, then closed it, cursing the universe and all its deities that he was _here_ , that there was no way to tell Harry never to be sorry for _that_ , to run his fingertips over the man’s forearms and dig his fingernails into Harry’s biceps as Draco pressed himself against him and stole every regret from him with his kiss, and at the same time not lose who he was.

It had been too long. Draco had taken his last dose on Friday – he was more than 24 hours overdue. He couldn’t get too close.

He wanted to cry.

“Don’t be,” he said instead, in a voice so small he barely heard it himself, and hoped it was enough.

Harry smiled, softly, and Draco wanted to cry all over again, but he settled for pulling away reluctantly to clean the last of the spilt coffee and dump the ruined cup in the sink before grabbing a clean mug from the nondescript collection and flicking the kettle on again.

“Last chance to convert to the nectar of the civilized,” Draco joked weakly, the pressure on his chest lifting slightly at the sound of Harry’s laughter.

“You don’t have to – oh, fuck, I’m going to be late to meet Ron, actually,” Harry said all at once, in that way only those who never keep calendars can.

“Wait, I thought Granger was coming over,” Draco said, turning to face the man, only to realize he was halfway to his bedroom already.

“She is,” Harry called, and Draco rolled his eyes as he followed him, because he was not going to _yell_.

“To talk to you,” Harry continued loudly, and Draco nearly flattened himself against the wall next to the bedroom door when he realized Harry was now dressed only in his underwear, looking around the room for something. Apparently _closing doors_ was now too civilized.

“I think she wants to apologize,” Harry smiled, holding up a pair of jeans triumphantly before stepping into them. Not that Draco was _looking_.

Draco snorted. “Of course. You lot are too righteous,” he muttered, crossing his arms as he stared at the ceiling some more.

“Draco,” Harry’s voice was closer, then, surprising Draco into looking at him again, as the man stood before him holding a shirt in one hand because _dear God why on earth would he put it on I mean Draco really hasn’t suffered enough already_ –

The doorbell sounded, and Harry smirked as Draco jumped slightly, so Draco did the mature thing and grabbed the shirt, tossing it in Harry’s face before spinning on his heel to go answer the door. Harry’s laugh followed him down the hallway, Draco opening the front door with a small involuntary smile.

“Granger,” he greeted the guest lightly, before he felt the smile melt off his face at the sight of her companion.

It should have been some consolation that Ginerva Weasley looked just as shocked to see him as he was to see her, but even her twisted freckled face couldn’t settle the roiling in his gut at the sight of her, the way he had to clench his teeth to keep his scathing words at bay. Even once she had schooled her features, however, Draco noted the lack of uncreative insults that would usually follow an encounter with the ginger, along with the not-so-subtle glances at her sister-in-law.

And, well, _that_ was interesting.

“Draco,” Hermione smiled, and Draco glanced over just in time to see Ginny’s eyes bug out of her head again, the _the fuck?!_ obviously on the tip of her tongue and _oh_ , if Draco hadn’t woken up in the bed of a six-foot Adonis that morning (said Adonis’ presence lacking, of course, but Draco was very much taking wins where we could find them these days), discovering that the Weaselette was scared of Hermione would surely be the highlight of his day.

As it was, it was certainly lifting his spirits. Were Pansy present, she would have taken one look at him and shuddered.

“Hermione, sorry I’m running –” Harry rounded the corner, now wearing shoes but pulling on his shirt as he went. “Oh, Ginny, this is a surprise,” he finished, coming to stand next to Draco in the entrance hall. Draco tried not to smirk at the way Ginny’s eyes flicked between recently-shirtless-Harry and himself.

_Let the useless little cogs turn_.

“Yes, Ginny simply insisted on tagging along, despite my telling her I wouldn’t be joining you and Ron for breakfast,” Hermione responded, her tone as completely devoid of enthusiasm as her face.

“Oh,” Harry responded, oh-so-eloquently, “well, I suppose – I mean, we were just going to grab a bite somewhere close-by, nothing fancy –”

Draco fought valiantly to roll his eyes at Harry’s attempt at dissuading the girl from stalking him, but alas, lost. Hermione coughed suddenly, the corners of her mouth turned up, before she turned to Ginny suddenly.

“Oh, Gin, I completely forgot!” she exclaimed, Ginny looking at her as if she’d gone mad, “I promised your mum I’d let her know if Harry and Draco would be joining us for supper next weekend. I’m assuming you are, right?” she finished, turning a sharp eye on the two men.

“Of course,” Harry responded immediately, and Draco nearly cracked one of Harry’s ribs with his elbow out of reflex, because _what the fuck he was not venturing into Weasley territory had Potter lost his bloody mind_ but he knew that Ginny was watching, so he settled instead for an easy smirk and a: “I’m sure I’d find it infinitely more entertaining than lounging about here alone all evening.”

If Harry seemed surprised at Draco taking the news so well, he didn’t show it (although Draco half-suspected that the situation being uncomfortable for him hadn’t occurred to the other man at all.) Hermione _did_ raise an eyebrow, but the last reaction was the one he was most looking forward to.

“Wait – he’s _sleeping_ here? Where?!” Draco widened his eyes at the youngest ginger’s tone, as if _surprised_ she was so worked up _I mean golly gosh young lady these personal affairs are hardly your business now are they_.

Draco was _soaring_.

Harry’s brow furrowed at the outburst. “My bed,” he replied, in a tone that suggested it was obvious, only Draco seemed to be the only one between the two of them who realized that the implied _while I sleep on the couch for I am a gentleman of virtue_ was anything _but_ obvious. Draco would’ve been full-on smirking now if he wasn’t biting his lip so hard - this couldn’t have gone better if he’d drilled a script into Harry’s head.

“In either case,” Hermione spoke, as if nothing untoward had occurred, “Gin, it just occurred to me your mum mentioned last time we spoke how she doesn’t get to see you nearly often enough. I’m all tied up right now, would you mind terribly popping past on your way home and letting her know for me?” Hermione asked, her tone saccharine sweet.

Ginny gaped at Hermione silently, her eyes flicking between the redhead and Harry, and Draco felt the same darkness in the pit of his stomach at the look she sent Harry’s way.

He hadn’t felt anything like it in years.

Harry reached for his jacket hanging from the coat rack, pulling it on as he commented “I’ve got to get going, I’ll walk you to the corner, Gin?”

Draco _knew_ it was crisis averted, Hermione having gotten rid of the unwanted guest, but even the mention of Harry taking a short walk with Ginny prickled at the back of his neck. _God_ , it was ridiculous, he was just being polite, they’d literally had their tongues down each other’s throats before –

Harry turned to say goodbye, Draco gathered, but Draco was already stepping closer and lifting one hand to rest on Harry’s chest casually as he took a deep breath, clearing the haze of murderous intent from the forefront of his mind. At such a short distance, Draco had to crane his neck just to be able to look Harry in the eye as he spoke; Harry instinctually raised a hand to Draco’s lower back to stabilize him even as he raised an eyebrow at Draco’s proximity.

Draco smiled naughtily, and he knew it looked like flirting.

It _was_ flirting, some corner of his mind supplied, before it was kicked into submission by the devious quarter that was running this show.

“I need to head over to my place and grab some more clothes when Hermione and I are done chatting,” he murmured idly, keeping his tone casual but low enough that Harry had to watch his lips to follow, “I’ll pop past the grocer’s on the way back – supper tonight? I’ll cook,” he finished, smiling warmly at Harry.

“Sure, that sounds great,” Harry murmured, his tone low and gravelly, and Draco felt a very real shiver run along his spine. Harry’s hand at his lower back tensed, as if sensing his response, and Draco watched as his pupils dilated, black swallowing green, the air suddenly feeling thin in his lungs.

Hermione cleared her throat pointedly, and Draco swayed as Harry stepped back slightly.

“Fantastic,” Draco breathed, holding Harry’s gaze until the door closed behind them, leaving Draco alone in the entrance way with Hermione and her raised eyebrow.

Draco rolled his eyes, and made his way to the living room, taking a seat in the armchair. Hermione sat down on the couch across from him, next to the neatly folded sheet and pillow Harry had pulled from the hall cupboard last night to sleep under. She cast a pointed look at the bedding, then at Draco, who returned her gaze coolly, and the two proceeded to stare one another down.

“I saw what you did there,” Hermione said, eventually. “It wasn’t very nice,” she continued, but she was smiling just a little.

“I’m certain I have no idea what you’re on about, Granger,” Draco drawled, “And even if I did, I assure you I wasn’t _trying_ to be nice.”

Hermione scoffed. “Don’t try to pull that bullshit on me, Draco. I saw that – right in front of Ginny!” Suddenly, she smiled, and Draco didn’t like it one bit. “You’re staking claim!”

“What?! That’s– Even if I _was_ –” Draco swallowed hard around the words, because he _wasn’t_ , “I’m _omega_. We don’t _stake claim_.”

“What?” Now Hermione was looking at him oddly, “Of course we do.”

“You –” Draco cut himself short immediately, but Hermione was quick.

“Surprised?” she smiled.

“Well – I’m sorry, I just assumed –,” Draco cleared his throat, “You never seem to be taking orders from him, from Weasley, rather it’s the other way around –”

“So you assumed I must be a beta or I’d be bending over backwards?” Hermione finished for him with a _look_.

“I – I don’t –” Draco swallowed hard, and shut himself up.

Hermione smiled, more to herself than anything else, but it was kind. “Don’t worry, I understand. I know that some of the older, more traditional folk– Well, I guess I don’t need to tell you,” she finished lamely, shifting slightly as if uncomfortable with the topic.

Draco clenched his jaw against the sudden stifling sensation in his throat, and bit out: “And yet I get the feeling that you’re going to.”

Hermione sighed, and Draco averted his eyes. Suddenly, the air felt heavy, and that very morning seemed a distant memory.

“Why are you really here, Granger?” he managed.

“Draco, you and I both know your father isn’t your Alpha anymore.”

The silence that followed stretched until Draco felt sure he would be at the receiving end when it snapped.

“Of course he is, he’s my father,” Draco said to the floor, eventually, his voice as cold as his chest felt.

“Yes,” Hermione countered firmly, “He’s your father and he was your Alpha. And the moment he found out his firstborn was an omega he did what purebloods have done for generations: he cast you out of his pack and severed the bond.”

Draco could hear the anger in her voice, the rage boiling under the surface at the injustice, the _wrongness_ , but all he felt was cold. It hurt less to feel cold.

“You didn’t tell Harry,” Draco observed.

“It wasn’t my place,” Hermione supplied, and Draco’s fist clenched against his will.

“Funny how you’re suddenly concerned about what you have the right to share,” Draco snarled.

Hermione’s expression hardened. “I will not apologize for sharing information that could potentially harm my pack,” she stated shortly. “That you are a wolf is not something Harry cannot know. Your suppressants, on the other hand – you don’t _have_ to obey your father, but if you choose to keep taking them –” Hermione paused, continuing softly, “I will not share my suspicions over your motives with Harry in this regard, but Draco, you need to tell him.”

Hermione paused, and Draco looked up to see her pulling something out of her purse and handing it to him.

“You are not only hurting yourself with this,” she said firmly.

Draco took what was offered wordlessly, staring down at the small object in his hand for what felt like hours.

A familiar yellow pill bottle.

“I –” Draco swallowed hard. “Where did you get these?”

“They’re mine,” Hermione replied simply.

Draco watched her for a moment.

“I don’t understand,” he said eventually, because he didn’t.

“I found wolf dynamics very confusing when I was first turned,” Hermione offered by way of explanation, and Draco’s eyes widened despite himself.

“You were– you were _bitten_? Oh my god,” he said, because he was a born wolf himself, but he had heard stories, of the horror of turning, the human body accommodating to its new form, the high fatality rate –

Hermione smiled sadly. “Yeah. It wasn’t fun, don’t get me wrong, but I don’t regret it. My parents tried really hard, they did,” she continued, sighing heavily, “Found out everything they could about wolves and how to look after them, but in the end they couldn’t know everything. They tried to keep me healthy but I was so scared of what could happen, that I could hurt them without meaning to – so I turned to those,” she finished, nodding at the pills Draco still held reverently.

“They’re not meant to be taken for prolonged periods of time, though – they’re not meant to be taken _at all_ –” Hermione cut herself off, running one hand through her hair. “You know, Harry was the one that found me, lost – he took me in, introduced me to Ron,” she continued, rolling her eyes slightly as she smiled despite herself. “Harry saved me, he saved us all really, but sometimes I wonder,” Hermione paused, “Who’s going to save Harry?”

Draco swallowed hard. “Harry doesn’t need _saving,_ ” he whispered, staring at the seemingly harmless yellow canister in his hands. “I couldn't- I can't even-”

“Oh Draco,” Hermione whispered, “You are so much more than you know.”

If they sat together for a long while before parting ways, neither mentioned it again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH DEAR LORD DOES THE ANGST NEVER END
> 
> I'm sorry. It started out so chipper but there's still a couple things that need smoothing out for our happy couple so the angst will reign supreme for a while more. Next chapter is date night though! It'll be fun. For all of us. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
> 
> Yell at me in the comments or on my tumblr that istg I'm gonna start checking again I PROMISE. Let me know what you think. Unless you hate it. In which case shame on your cow or something. I tried.
> 
> Love you all!!


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